Rubicon 2 Africa
by Ten Mara
Summary: After Quatermain’s funeral in Africa, Tom accompanies the local doctor on his rounds of outlying settlements, only to find himself in the middle of an outbreak of a deadly illness. COMPLETE
1. Default Chapter

"Rubicon 2 – Africa"

By Ten Mara

After Quatermain's funeral, the League plan on doing some traveling in Africa for a few weeks with one of the hunter's old friends. But Tom feels compelled to accompany the local doctor on his rounds of outlying settlements instead, only to find himself in the middle of an outbreak of a deadly illness. Can he believe in himself and his leadership abilities enough to save everyone?

This is the second in a trilogy about Tom Sawyer. You don't necessarily have to have read the first to follow this, but it is on Fanfiction Net if you'd like to check it out. "Rubicon 1 - Aftermath" mainly dealt with what happened after the attack on M's fortress and Tom's angst over Quatermain's death.

Rating: T

CATEGORY: Story, Drama/Angst, Supernatural aspects, hints of potential Tom/Mina

DISCLAIMER: The literary characters referred to are copyright their respective authors, and "LXG: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" is copyright 20th Century Fox, based on the comic books by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill. The characters and movie universe are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. Characters not recognized are mine.

THANKS TO: Sawyer Fan always, Suzi, Ngaire, Gerry, Mac, Suzanne and Brett.

Author's Note: I realized after I'd posted out all of "Rubicon 1: Aftermath" that I'd made an error – Jim was not the slave of the Widow Douglas, he was the slave of her sister, Miss Watson. I'd read "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" especially to write the story, but somewhere along the way when writing I got those women mixed up, much to my embarrassment! So Miss Watson is the one who died and freed Jim in her will.

xXx

The Nautilus was now several days into its journey from England to Africa, to allow the League to bury Allan Quatermain beside his son.

Tom Sawyer lay in his bed, allowing himself the pleasure of dozing for a bit before facing the day, or rather the obstacle course. The course was the first part of his exercise and training regime each day while on the submarine.

_That was a good night's sleep._

The thought made the American then do a mental tally of his nightmares – the ones he could remember anyway – and he was relieved that the volume of them was definitely easing. In fact, last night he'd had quite an amusing dream for once. It involved him being in the room of the Nautilus that Nemo called the saloon, which had panels that retracted in the walls to reveal the wonders of the waters they were in. Safe behind the thick but very clear glass, Tom had been watching the various aquatic life and coral formations with interest, when suddenly an even more fascinating sight appeared behind him.

"Look at me!" Skinner crowed.

And there he was. With bright teal-blue skin. "Oh my God, did you tip a bucket of paint over your head instead of greasepaint?" Sawyer asked in alarm. "And why?" Then he realized that he could actually see Skinner's eyes, even his pupils.

"I'm cured!"

"But you're bright blue!" Tom spluttered out.

"I always have been, kid – that's one of the reasons why I wanted to become invisible in the first place, so I'd stop standing out. Not good for a thief, that trait. And I was sick of all the jokes. But then I found out too late that invisibility isn't without its own problems." Then the no-longer invisible man looked past the American. "Hey, I've got an audience!"

Tom turned back to the view of the ocean to find that there was now a crowd of sea life pressed against the glass, for all the world like tourists at a zoo checking out the latest exhibit. Fish were staring mesmerised at Skinner's skin. The spy saw an octopus, sharks, a whale, perhaps a mermaid even, staring in awe, and then suddenly the Loch Ness Monster was there, taking up all the room, somehow having gotten out of its Loch to come have a speedy look-see. It must have been that particular monster, for it commented: "Now _there's_ something you don't see every day!" in a very Scottish accent.

And that was all the American could remember of that dream, but it had been a refreshing, if not bizarre, change.

At breakfast Skinner was there, much to Tom's delight, though he refrained from mentioning the dream to him. The invisible man was making an incredibly quick recovery from his burns, but Jekyll still wanted him to stay in the infirmary most of the time, with gradually longer and longer intervals of 'freedom' being allowed.

Rodney had his hat on to give the others a point of focus, and the doctor had instructed him to avoid greasepaint and heavy clothing until his skin was fully healed.

"These burns are practically gone. Soon I can sneak out and you won't even know I'm going," Skinner boasted.

"Hyde would smell you," came the reply as Henry picked up his teacup.

"Ahh, but would he share the information?"

Jekyll gave him a look. "That depends if he wanted to be mean to you or not. Or it could be seen as being _nice_ to you, seeing as you are supposed to rest, instead of getting into a heap of trouble on the ship. I know it is difficult, but the more you rest now, the more you'll be able to do when we get to Africa. Especially since we've got to travel inland to Nairobi."

Everyone at the table could practically hear Skinner roll his eyes.

"Oh, all right. I'll be good. Of course, my version of good could be seen as other people's version of 'bad' . . . ."

At that Tom could not help commenting, "When he was good he was very, very good and when he was bad he was nowhere to be seen or found!"

"Absolutely!"

xXx

It was time for Tom's martial arts practice. Usually it was later, but his regular teacher, Tang, was busy, and this earlier slot was more suitable for Nemo today. The Captain had plans to bring some of the other crew in on lessons in the near future, to give the spy practice at fighting more than one opponent.

Tom gave the lesson his usual intense focus and energy, and at the end was pleased with how he had gone.

Afterwards the two of them sat resting.

"Captain Nemo, there's something I've been meaning to ask."

"Go ahead, Thomas."

The American had been trying to work out how to approach this particular topic. _Here goes._ "It's about the cooking – the meals. I'm really enjoying the food. There's an amazing spread of dishes each time, and I've gotten to taste so many different things from many nationalities thanks to the Chef." That was the only name they had ever gotten when introduced to Nemo's head cook. Nemo said it was because he had no equal. He was _the_ Chef.

And considering how versatile the man could be with fish or even seaweed when need be, the title was fully deserved. The Chef was a tall and powerfully built man who ruled his kitchen with as much pride and authority as Nemo did over the rest of the ship.

The Captain commented, "I have noticed that you do enjoy the meals and are not afraid to try new dishes. The Chef likes people who are adventurous in their eating and possess a fine appetite. But you said you had something to ask."

Tom hesitated, then plunged on. "As much as I love those foods, I'm also kind of missing Southern cooking. So, um, I was wondering if it were possible if I could be allowed to do some cooking myself, wouldn't need much room, just to whip up some of those things I'm craving. I'd be happy to share them. But I wasn't sure if that would upset the Chef or not, or if I'd get in his way . . . . I think I'd rather be on the bad side of ten of my Aunt Pollys than him!"

Nemo chuckled. "I think he would be honoured that you had the care to ask first. And I'm sure he would like to watch you prepare those dishes or find out more from you, so that he can try doing them himself. I will speak to him today and let you know." The Captain was glad to be given a way to help make Tom feel more at home, especially after the losses he had suffered lately.

"Thank you."

"Tell me about some of the dishes that you miss the most," the Indian said with clear curiosity.

So Sawyer filled him in on the wonders of Southern cooking, his descriptions making them both half-starved within minutes. "The way that they are cooked is often what makes all the difference. Like with the corn bread, the hot biscuits and wheat bread and fried chicken. Perhaps no bread in the world is quite so good as Southern corn bread."

"Thomas, I am surprised you have lasted this long away from your hometown cooking! I will definitely see the Chef today. I think he will rise to the challenge magnificently."

Tom smiled. If Allan Quatermain felt like a father to him, then Nemo was like an uncle. After they left the gymnasium, the Captain showed the American around some of the amazing features of the Nautilus that he either hadn't gotten to see yet or hadn't gotten to ask questions about.

The submarine was traveling along on top of the sea at the moment, and a number of Nemo's men were out on the large exposed deck, some going through drills, others relaxing. A series of tall poles were lining the area, fully retractable and able to be varied in height if required. They were covered in strong netting to form a sort of fence, so the men were protected from falling overboard by mishap or due to any freak waves.

Tom had been glad when he first saw the deck utilized like this, having wondered how Nemo's crew got proper air and exercise, seeing as the conning tower seemed to be the domain of the Captain and the League, and too small for many people to use at once. And the range of gymnasiums and recreation rooms while extensive, were not the same as some fresh air and sun.

Nemo wanted to take some measurements in regard to some new designs of his, and Tom lent a hand. The Captain explained what this latest conceptualization was about. "At the moment I am working on the best design for an escape pod, then I can have them installed on all levels, and I am also considering creating more sections that could potentially detach from this vessel when required and have their own power, like the Nautilod. Then as many lives as possible could be saved, if ever we have a situation like those bombs going off again. One exploration pod is hardly adequate."

"This submarine was clearly very carefully designed from the start, but you didn't allow for 'lifeboats' at that stage?" the American asked.

"It is not so surprising when you consider my attitude at the time. It was partly that a Captain goes down with his ship, but mainly because back then I had renounced not only society and civilisation but land itself, and so had my crew. The sea was my only home. I was determined not to stand on a continent ever again, unless no other human had stepped there first, so if ever something happened to the Nautilus, then that was the end of me as well."

"I'm glad you changed your mind."

xXx

Then Tom went to visit Skinner, who was back in the infirmary, but not confined to bed so much now. He had his own private area anyway. Sawyer found the ex-thief at a desk that Henry had arranged to have moved in for him. The invisible man was working on a jigsaw puzzle of a vase of flowers, his hat perched on a jaunty angle.

"Hey, Skinner."

"Hey, kid. Pull up a seat."

"Need some help there?"

"Nope. Feels more satisfying when I do it myself."

"Where's Jekyll?"

"Off somewhere talking with Mina, as far as I know."

Lately Mina seemed to have come out of her isolation in regard to what happened in the fortress and her aloofness around the remaining League members. Tom wondered what she and Jekyll were talking about. They had been in each other's company a lot these last few days. It was to be expected. _They're so well suited – around the same age, similar scientific backgrounds, have dark sides that they wrestle with . . . . _If anything happened between them, he would not be surprised and was determined not to let his feelings show. _Perhaps that's the best way to cure my feelings for her. I just hope I can hide any jealousy until then._

And lately he had felt it best to keep away from Mina as much as possible anyway.

Fortunately oblivious to Tom's thoughts, Skinner picked up one of the loose jigsaw pieces. "Ooo, here's the last bit of that geranium!"

Then the piece hovered in the air and Skinner groaned and said, "Oh God!"

"What's wrong?" Sawyer asked him worriedly at the same time as Henry did, the doctor having entered just in time to hear the ex-thief's exclamation.

"It just hit me that I was getting excited about finishing this vase of flowers. Not a good sign!" Rodney bemoaned, tossing the piece back onto the table. "What have I come to?"

Henry gave him a look. "Tell me what else you'd like to do and I'll do my best to accommodate it." He'd certainly tried, judging by the checkers set and books and various other things scattered around. "But you're able to get out more, we just have to pace it carefully. You and Tom could go for a short walk now if you liked."

"Good!" Rodney said with a sigh of relief.

"I trust Tom to keep an eye on you and keep you out of trouble."

_Aunt Polly would never have believed that, even a few years ago!_ Sawyer thought.

"Where do you want to go?" Henry continued.

"Anywhere but here. No offence, Doc. You're welcome to join us, if you can," Skinner said.

Henry was pleased by the offer, sensing that it was genuine, not an 'I'm inviting you along because I feel I should; I don't really want to' invitation. "All right." Nemo's own medical crew was on hand to look after the few other patients who were currently in another section of the infirmary.

So the three set off on their walk. Skinner started musing that he needed a project to keep him busy, and so the doctor and the spy started giving him suggestions, some more serious than others.

"Knitting," Henry said with a chuckle.

"Underwear drawer reconnaissance would be more in my line."

"Oh yeah," Tom replied. "Not even your fast healing abilities or invisibility would save you if Mina caught you at it!"

Then Skinner snapped his fingers. "Got it! Tom, lad, I've decided I'm going to teach you how to play cricket. Henry, you can lend a hand too."

Tom raised an eyebrow and to Skinner he looked so very Quatermain-ish at that moment. "Any particular reason why you want to teach me that game?"

"Cultural exchange. And the challenge. I have a feeling it should be a very interesting process."

"Well, I really don't know anything much about it, so I'm sure you're right. And if it gives you a project to keep you amused and happy, why not?" _I am gonna regret this!_

xXx

At lunch Nemo informed the League that he had exchanged a few telegrams with Doctor Hanrahan in Nairobi, who was the executor of Allan's will. Hanrahan was sorting out the arrangements for the hunter's funeral, and Nemo would let him know when the League arrived at Kenya's shores.

Then the Captain told Tom that he was to report to the gallery after his meal – the Chef wanted as much information on Southern cooking as possible. The head cook proved to be extremely interested in Sawyer's descriptions and was looking forward to the challenge of making a new range of food. The American soon had the Chef busily scribbling down notes and going through his supplies to decide what to try first.

After that hopefully successful mission, Tom strolled down the corridor, on the way to the main library on the Nautilus, wondering how things were going in the gymnasium below. Mina was doing weaponry practice there with some of Nemo's men. As a training measure, the Captain had wanted them to experience fighting a supernatural creature.

The American was very tempted to go watch proceedings, or even join in, but he still felt it best to stay away.

His thoughts, however, did have a tendency to stray in her direction . . . .

He remembered how one day in his early teens, he and Huck had been digging, searching for buried treasure on Tom's instigation, and Huck had asked him what he would do with his share of the wealth.

Tom had replied, "I'm going to buy a new drum, and a sure-'nough sword, and a red necktie, and a bull-pup, and get married."

"Married!"

"That's it."

"Tom, you – why, you ain't in your right mind."

"Wait – you'll see."

_No. No, he won't._

"Well, that's the foolishest thing you could do, Tom. Look at Pap and my mother. Fight! Why they used to fight all the time. I remember, mighty well."

"That ain't anything," Tom replied confidently. "The girl I'm going to marry won't fight."

At the memory of that little comment, the grown up Tom forgot his melancholy and almost burst out laughing, thinking of what Mina was up to this very moment in the gym. At the time he had meant Becky Thatcher, but things change.

_They certainly do. And become more complicated._

"Tom, I reckon they're all alike," Huck pressed, trying to make him see reason. "They'll all comb a body. Now you better think about this a while. I tell you you better. What's the name of the gal?"

"It ain't a gal at all – it's a girl."

"It's all the same, I reckon; some says gal, some says girl – both's right, like enough. Anyway, what's her name, Tom?"

"I'll tell you sometime – not now."

"All right, that'll do. Only if you get married I'll be more lonesomer than ever."

"No you won't, you'll come and live with me."

At that the adult Tom winced in pain and nearly bit his lip to bleeding point.

He tried to think back to some happier memories instead. He and Huck had actually ended up finding buried treasure and getting rich from it. Then there was the reward money he had split with his best friend after solving a murder and diamond robbery, and the box of jewels they had discovered with the victims of a sandstorm in the Sahara. Thanks to Judge Thatcher's pertinent investing of these gains, Tom remained a comfortably well off young man.

The American turned a corner, close to his goal of the library. Recently Nemo had mentioned a battle between the Spartans and the Persians that sounded very interesting, and Tom wanted to look up more details. He also thought it might behoove him to see if he could find out anything about cricket too, to be prepared for whatever Skinner was going to spring on him. When he reached the library, which was a series of connected rooms and alcoves brimming with books and scrolls, there was no one else around. Somewhat glad of that fact, the American set about browsing the shelves.

While going through a promising-looking history book, he stumbled across an interesting tale regarding Julius Caesar.

The Rubicon – Rubico – was a small northern Italian river in Roman times. It was the boundary between a Roman province and the Roman heartland. Their law banned generals from crossing the river with a standing army, therefore protecting the republic from internal military threats. Julius Caesar had become very powerful and popular as the Governor of Gaul, and the Senate felt he was a threat to their power. They ordered him to resign and disband his army. Pompey held the power in Rome and was told to enforce the order. In 49 BC Caesar made the decision to cross the river with his men and confront Pompey, "making armed conflict inevitable".

The incident spawned the phrase "crossing the Rubicon", "to refer to any person committing themselves irrevocably to a risky course of action".

Tom sighed.

_An irreversible decision. I've made a few of those._

xXx

Mina could sense there was someone else in the library the moment she stepped into the room. The person was not in immediate sight, so she concentrated her senses of smell and hearing. It was Tom, over in the deeper recesses, and as she got closer, she could hear by the rhythmic beating of his heart and by his breathing that he was asleep.

When she saw him on a sofa, lying against one of the armrests, she was glad of her natural stealth. Due to his spy training, if she were making a normal human amount of noise, he would have been awake well before now - she had seen him do it before, even when the person tried to be as quiet as possible. Despite her ability, she hesitated about going any closer to him. Vampire stealth or not, she was no longer in her fighting outfit and it was hard to keep these skirts from rustling.

But on the other hand, she wanted to keep an eye on him.

_Some motherly compunction, Mina? Hardly. _

She was glad he was getting some sleep, even if it wasn't the most comfortable of beds. At least he wasn't wearing his holsters, so there were no pistols digging into his sides. Though there were a number of books on the sofa with him that could be doing the same. From the titles, most of them were to do with history.

Mina's attention turned from the books back to Tom, and for several minutes she stood very still, just observing and studying him. She tried not to study the ambivalence in her feelings towards him.

Her feelings towards Henry Jekyll were more defined, in that during the time they had spent together so far, and in these recent days going over scientific issues, she felt strong friendship towards him, but nothing more.

But as for the young man before her now . . . .

In a lot of ways Tom reminded her of Quincey Jones, who had helped to defeat Dracula, but he also reminded her in ways of her late husband, Jonathan. A fine mix of the two, almost.

Van Helsing had called Jonathan "true grit" and that he "improves under strain that would kill a weaker nature".

Jonathan had been full of energy – until Dracula – and full of talent, with a very faithful disposition. Very brave too, with a sweet, noble and strong nature.

He had been in the employ of Mr Hawkins and had just become a solicitor when Mr Hawkins died, leaving him and Mina everything. She remembered one of her observations in her diary at the time about her new husband.

_. . . amount of responsibility it puts upon him makes him nervous. He begins to doubt himself. I try to cheer him up and my belief in him helps him to have a belief in himself._

She hoped to do the same for Tom too.

She liked him a lot, she knew. It would be very easy to . . . .

But would it be fair to him?

_So much for keeping my thoughts away from this matter._

She had a past – and not just Dorian, but what Dracula had turned her into. She may not care what others thought about her, but she did care what they thought about Tom.

Though truth be told, she knew those things would not bother him. Mina sighed. _Am I using that as an excuse?_

After Mongolia, he had put his feelings aside and been there for her as a friend, trying to help her despite his own grief. His actions had meant so much to her, and she was determined to return the favour. Mina had made a promising start just before the Nautilus left to go to Africa, getting him to share some of his pain, and he had seemed to be regaining his natural equilibrium, but in these last days Tom seemed to be going out of his way to avoid her. Politely, of course.

It was like the closer they were getting to bury Allan Quatermain, the more Tom was struggling anew with his role in the hunter's death. Or that the funeral would bring home the finality of his loss.

She looked down at the spy again, and saw that his peaceful face had changed. His eyelids were moving, but not opening. He was dreaming.

Soon his head began to move against the armrest. His expression became pained.

Before Mina could do anything, Tom said, "Quatermain?" Then his eyes opened and he startled slightly, seeing her there.

Mina stepped forward. "It's all right, Tom. You were dreaming."

Groggy, he started to sit up, rubbing a hand over his face. "I wish it had been just a dream . . . ." he mumbled into his palm.

_He must have been reliving something from the fortress,_ Mina thought.

She rescued a book that was just about to slide from his lap. Then she moved some of the others, putting them on a nearby table, making room for herself next to Tom. He went to stand for her, but she gestured for him to stay where he was, then sat down herself.

Wincing, he straightened and looked at the ornate clock on the wall, doing his best to keep his feelings to himself about the dream. "Darn. I was supposed to be at the shooting gallery."

"Did you have an appointment with one of Nemo's men there? Or a time booked to use it?"

"No. It was just on my schedule." He caught her look. "What?"

"You've certainly been training a lot and keeping a very full timetable. We do not have the kidnapped scientists on board anymore or a mission. You are a great shot already. Don't you think you should take some more leisure time for yourself while it's quiet?"

"There isn't much else to do on a sub, even one like this." That was a stretch of the truth, but he hoped she wouldn't call him on it. Even now he still hadn't gotten to explore the place as much as he wanted, with his training taking up a lot of his time. "Reading is great, but I'm an outdoor kind of guy too."

_I don't have your 'gifts', _he thought, but did not dare say._ I have to keep constantly practicing just to be 'above ordinary'. That's the closest I can get to 'extraordinary'. I want to do all that I can to ensure I don't get taken by surprise again and that I contribute all I possibly can to the League, to our missions. I can't afford to miss a shot or miss anything._

Though he was astute enough to know that while in a way he would like to have some special ability to bring to the table, Mina and Jekyll would be quite happy to be rid of their 'special' sides.

Tom said, "When we stop off in Egypt again I'd like to do some sightseeing. That's when I'll take some leisure time. Anyway, I'd better put these back and get going. Might borrow this one to read . . . ." He considered one of the titles as he went to get up. He'd become so caught up in the history books before falling asleep that he had not gotten around to looking for anything to do with cricket. Now he did not want to linger to try to find anything else.

Mina decided to get to the point. "Tom, I've had a feeling lately that you've been avoiding me. Am I mistaken?"

_Uh oh._ Reluctantly he remained seated. "I'm not avoiding you. Hey, we have each meal together every day!"

"I don't mean as in at the dinner table or wherever when everyone else is around. I mean you seem to be avoiding spending time with me alone."

He tried to make a joke of it. "It isn't proper. People will talk." _And besides, you've been with Jekyll so much – _he started to think at Mina, then reminded himself that he was being unfair. Mina had tried to spend time with Tom too, but the American had made excuses, leading her to tell him that if he did want to talk, then to seek her out wherever she was. However, he had not taken up the opportunity.

Mina ignored his awkward attempt at humour. "Are you – " She knew that 'afraid' wasn't' the right word to use, but was stuck for the right term. " - thinking that if we were alone I would make you talk about Allan again, about your feelings?"

He shrugged and busied his hands with piling up the books he had been looking through, keeping his gaze on them. "I appreciated what you did."

_That's a way of answering the question without really answering it. _"It was a hard thing to do. It hurt me to keep pushing and pushing, knowing I was upsetting you more, until you finally let go. But you needed it, Tom." _In fact, I think you need more of it._

"It helped," he admitted, but his reluctance and reserve was still clear.

"But the problem with it was . . . ?'

He sighed and finally looked at her. "It wasn't so much the talking. It was the breaking down."

He looked somewhat ashamed and disgusted with himself.

"Why see it as a breakdown? Why not as a break_through_?" Mina asked.

For a moment he looked surprised, then considered her words, but an uncomfortable expression soon took over. He reiterated, "I'm grateful for what you did, but . . . ."

There was a flash of something on his face. _Resentment,_ she realized. But in what way?

Mina kept trying. "Please don't keep anything from me, even if you think it might offend or hurt me. You would be the last person in the world to deliberately hurt me."

_I've shown talent at hurting people with Skinner and Allan. Stop it, Sawyer! They didn't blame you, you know they didn't._

"I – it's nothing. You don't have to worry." Tom got up and started putting the books back.

"Society is very much of the opinion that only a baby should cry," Mina said, also standing. "But if it felt good, if it helped you, then there is no need to be embarrassed about it. I don't perceive you as weak, or becoming weaker for it."

"Then why don't you do it yourself?" he snapped out before he could stop himself, once more pushed by her into territory he wanted to avoid. "I've tried to be there for you, but you won't let me be there in that way."

Light dawned. "Ah. I am not practicing what I preach. I know that I am not much of a crier. There are times when I wish I was. Before my curse, I was not given much to tears, and then after, well, I was scared of where strong emotions would take me. They seemed to lead me to bloodsucking . . . and Dorian . . . ." She sighed. "We are all different. What you have done for me is just what I needed when I was working my way through my feelings after Mongolia. You might not have thought it was much, but just knowing you were there, that I could go to you if I wanted to, helped so much."

Her words went some way towards mollifying him. A small, happy smile touched his face when she told him he had helped her.

"Do not feel like you are burdening me with your emotions," she continued, sure she was now getting somewhere.

The smile died. Sawyer confessed, "That's part of the problem. When you were holding me . . . I found myself liking that a lot more than I should have. Especially given the situation. I don't want to burden you with _those_ emotions."

This time light didn't so much dawn as starburst. "Oh, Tom –"

He rushed on. "Talk about inappropriate. There I was, mourning for Allan, but there I also was, feeling good about you holding me. So, for all concerned, I think it's best if we avoid that sort of situation in the future." Since her comforting of him, there had been occasions where he had very much wanted to go and talk with her, but did not dare. Instead, he had closed his eyes and recalled how he had felt in her arms and her reassuring words, and used those memories as best he could to help him instead of the real thing.

Before she could reply, one of Nemo's crewmen entered, carrying a basket full of books. These were titles that some of the crew had read and now were being swapped for others. Nemo liked to encourage the studies and interests of his men, and the lone American on board was glad for this unexpected interruption to the conversation.

After talking with them for a few minutes, the crewman headed off into one of the other sections. Then Tom said quietly, "There's no need to worry about me, Mina, but I thank you for it."

She knew that the conversation was now at an end. But that did not mean she would not try resuming it at another time, and at least some progress had been made. "All right. I will not worry, if you promise me you will take more time for yourself. You have to have some hobbies that don't involve guns or training. It's clear you're widely read, for one."

"I promise," the American said, then left with some books tucked under his arm.

xXx

Despite Tom's assurances, Mina was still concerned for him. Hopefully now he would not shy away from her company as much, though they had not really gotten to discuss his feelings for her.

She wasn't sure if she was ready to discuss them either, actually.

But there had to be some way to reach out to him, without driving him away.

Then her recent recollections from her diary entries gave her an idea. It was somewhat of an unsettling idea to her in some ways, but it stayed.

xXx

Tom was in his room, alternating between writing and reading, by whim of his mood, when there was a knock at the door.

"It's open."

Mina entered, smiling but with some apprehension in her eyes. She was carrying a thick bundle of bound pages.

He stood. "What's wrong?" he asked in concern.

"Nothing is. I just . . . ." She looked down at the bundle, fingering it uncertainly.

Tom looked too. The pages were dog-eared and worn. He could see that the top sheet was typewritten.

She took a deep breath and became more determined. "I think you might be interested in reading this. It is a copy of what happened when my husband and our friends and I battled Count Dracula. The account was put together from our diary entries and newspaper reports. It helped us work out the Count, his powers and how to defeat him."

"Are you sure you want me to read it?" _Is this her way of opening up to me?_ Her next words answered his unspoken question without a doubt.

"It will help you understand what happened, and it will help you to understand . . . me. I would like you to read it." She held the bundle out, now with clear decisiveness.

"I will."

END PART ONE

Notes:

The information and quotes about the phrase "crossing the Rubicon" come from Wikipedia, the free online encyclopedia, and the webpage 'Eyewitness to History'.

The dialogue between Tom and Huck about future wealth and marriage is from "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" by Mark Twain. The descriptions of Southern cooking come from Mark Twain's autobiography.


	2. Chapter 2

**EmmaSteed –** Thanks! I am a Tom/Mina-ist and will see how those two go over the course of this trilogy. You're right, we need more Tom/Mina, and are you going to do any more of "Mina Warms Up"? I wish they'd left that scene in the movie.

**Sawyer Fan –** Yes, it is up, thanks to your help! Sawyer is his own best feature – LOL. I'm glad the inclusion of parts from the novels worked for you, and I promise there is a lot of angst coming. Give us more Sequel and Crucible soon too!

**Ingra –** Thanks very much – it was great fun writing Skinner, and I enjoy writing Tom and Mina interaction. Glad they came across that way. Yes, they will be talking more in this chapter, and I guarantee at least one more hug somewhere in this story!

**pengwin-jibberish – **I hope this second story keeps working as well for you as the first did. I love the idea of having all these different characters in a League together, and working out how they would mix and what they would talk about and do, and trying to make it as believable as possible. Thank you very much!

"Rubicon 2 – Africa" Chapter 2

by Ten Mara

Rating: T

CATEGORY: Story, Drama/Angst, Supernatural aspects, hints of potential Tom/Mina

DISCLAIMER: The literary characters referred to are copyright their respective authors, and "LXG: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" is copyright 20th Century Fox, based on the comic books by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill. The characters and movie universe are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. Characters not recognized are mine.

Note: In the movie, what happened to Mina after Dracula's death has been altered from that given in the last page of Bram Stoker's novel, so I've followed what the scriptwriter gave us, and decided that in my League/Rubicon universe she does not have a son. There are quotes in this chapter from the novel.

xXx

Next day:

At breakfast Henry and Skinner joined the rest of the League, or almost all of them. "We still waiting for the kid?" Rodney asked.

"He is not coming," Nemo answered. The others were surprised by that news.

Skinner raised an eyebrow. "Just when I start showing up to the table again, Tom doesn't. Should I be insulted? Or is he that worried that I'm going to teach him cricket?"

"Agent Sawyer cancelled his martial arts training for today and asked that his meals be served in his room until further notice," the Captain replied.

Henry frowned with concern. "Any ideas why? Isn't he feeling well?"

"He said he was busy. My crewman commented that he was very distracted."

"It's all right," Mina informed the others, realising what was going on. "He is just reading something he wants to finish as quickly as possible."

No one asked her to elaborate, and she was glad.

xXx

Tom devoured books, but he had never been so caught up in one as he was with this.

_Because this one really happened. And to someone I care about._

His strict, self-enforced training regime was on hold, even his next planned visit to the ice room where Allan's body lay. All that mattered for now was the words and story in front of him, of how Mina and her husband and friends had battled a terrible vampire.

As he got deeper into the pages and the emotions, he could see just how much Mina was sharing with him and trusting him with. At one point she had written about her deceased best friend:

_If I hadn't gone to Whitby, perhaps poor dear Lucy would be with us now. She hadn't taken to visiting the churchyard till I came, and if she hadn't come there in the daytime with me she wouldn't have walked there in her sleep; and if she hadn't gone there at night and asleep, that monster couldn't have destroyed her as he did. Oh, why did I ever go to Whitby? There now, crying again! I wonder what has come over me today. I must hide it from Jonathan, for if he knew that I had been crying twice in one morning – I, who never cried on my own account, and whom he has never caused to shed a tear – the dear fellow would fret his heart out. _

Then at one point she decided, _I suppose a cry does us all good at times – clears the air as other rain does._

How Mina had encouraged Lucy's fiancé, Arthur, to let out his grief about losing her. He had cried in her arms. _I suppose there is something in woman's nature that makes a man free to break down before her and express his feelings on the tender or emotional side without feeling it derogatory to his manhood._

Tom had no one else to speak to or let the grief out to about Allan until Mina. Nemo had tried, but something in the American had resisted. Heck, he'd resisted Mina too, but she had worn him down.

Mina had told Arthur that she was like a sister to Lucy and suggested that she could be a sister to him.

_She didn't tell me to see her like a sister . . . . Don't get any ideas, Sawyer. _

He felt empathy for Jonathan in a lot of ways, and with Quincey Morris, the lone American in the band of vampire hunters. The Texan had also had an unattainable love - for Lucy - was Southern and placed a good deal of trust in a Winchester.

At one point Tom read Mina's comment: _Fortunately I am not of a fainting disposition_, and he thought, _Well,_ _that certainly hasn't changed!_

After Mina had read about Count Dracula in her husband's diary and then realised that he could now be in London, she was not certain if this strange man really was of the undead or just one of Jonathan's fever dreams. After all, Jonathan had become very sick while on his business trip in Transylvania. But there was one thing she was sure of. _There may be a solemn duty; and if it come we must not shrink from it. I shall be prepared._

She was the one who struck on the idea of typing out her husband's journal and any other relevant information so they could read a 'whole connected narrative' and make more sense of it, to try to fathom out the vampire's plans and powers. Mina, Jonathan and their friends could never have made the connections they did otherwise.

And then in leaving Mina out of their business because it was too dangerous for a woman and to spare her pain, the group of vampire hunters inadvertently allowed Dracula access to her.

It was she who ultimately used intellect to work out the Count's moves and motives so they could all track him down and kill him. Unfortunately they lost one of their own in the process. Tom was quite melancholy when he read about Quincey's death.

The agent was so wrapped up in the words that his next delivered meal was cold by the time he started eating it. And even then it was absently, until finally it came to him that what he was eating was a very good first attempt by the Chef at making one of his Southern dishes. The gesture was deeply touching. _I must go and thank him._

But the first person he needed to see was Mina.

xXx

Tom joined her on the conning tower with only the company of the sea and breeze.

"I've finished," he said in a very soft voice.

She turned slightly towards him and nodded.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

"That which does not kill us, strengthens us. And for me that certainly became the case." She paused and looked down at her gloved hands. "Do you understand me better now?"

"Yes. I thought you were a remarkable woman; this just proved it." He meant it seriously, but she gave a faint smile in response.

Van Helsing had been right on the mark when he commented that Mina "has a man's brain – a brain that a man should have were he much gifted – and woman's heart."

Mina faced Tom fully. "Now you can see that I have never been a great crier myself, but that I can well understand its beneficial properties. My keeping my feelings to myself was nothing personal against you."

He nodded. "Your guilt over Lucy's death . . . That was like reading about myself and Allan."

"Well, I came to see that some things just happen and the best has to be made of it once they are."

"Yes. I just wish . . . that there had been more time in my case, really." With Mina sharing it was suddenly a lot easier for him to share in turn. "I knew Huck since we were kids; we grew up together. I hardly knew Allan in comparison. And yet I miss him so much, just as much. I never knew my real father, but I felt that way towards Allan."

"I am not surprised. It's like you were meant to be brought together, to become father and son. All of us could see it. It was a more perfect match than I've seen in most blood relations or even marriage partners." She paused, then said, "I do not mean that as a jest."

"I know."

"I was lucky in some ways in regard to time. I knew both Lucy and Jonathan since we were children. At least I had that. But quality of time is what counts. And Dracula put an end to that, just like the Fantom did with your friend and Allan."

They were both quiet for a time, then Mina found herself opening up in a way she had not since – since . . .

_Since being with Jonathan himself, _she realised.

"For a while after Dracula's death, it seemed that all was well. Or well enough. Jonathan was never as physically strong again, and I am sure that when he caught pneumonia a few years later, he would have beaten it if not for that past ordeal. And we were sure Dracula's death had freed me from the curse. But after my husband's funeral, a man tried to rob me in the street, and I was suddenly filled with such rage. The vampire nature came out in me and I killed him."

She swallowed and continued, her voice quiet but determined, encouraged by Tom's silent attentiveness. "I am 'clean' enough or unaffected enough to be able to endure sunlight and be seen in mirrors, to enter churches, and not go into a frenzy when I smell blood. I can also last a long time without having a craving for blood. Fortunately there is not enough of Dracula's essence in me to make me become soulless and evil. But when provoked, like by the henchman in Dorian's library or the robber . . . ." She shuddered. "From the time I was attacked by that robber, I stopped aging. Doctor Van Helsing was at a loss as to how to get me back to normal or why I am still affected. Perhaps one day . . . . The one good thing about Jonathan's death is that he did not live to see what I had become. It would have broken his heart."

"I think that he would have been proud that you're using this for good," Tom said. "To help people. Like you said in your diary: 'perhaps we are the instruments of ultimate good'. And you were the one to work Dracula out so he could be defeated. You were determined that he would not be allowed to continue, not just for the sake of your loved ones and any other potential victim, but for himself too, whoever he used to be before the curse. That was remarkable compassion and insight, especially considering he had already killed your best friend."

Mina wrapped her hands tightly around the railing. "I freed him, but somehow stayed trapped myself. One of the reasons I became a chemist was to try to find a cure for my condition. That was the carrot dangled to me by M as well."

"One day we will find a way. But for now, as you said, we all do the best we can with the hand we're dealt."

"Exactly." And it was good to know that she no longer had to do that alone. "You are the only person I have shown that chronicle to since it happened. I think I will show it to the others as well. It may be beneficial if we come across any other vampires. But I wanted you to read it first."

She could see in his green eyes just how much her gesture meant to him.

"Try not to doubt yourself, Tom. I certainly do not. And I have not been one to trust others easily for a long while."

"Thank you."

There was a comfortable silence between them for a few minutes as they looked out over the water and also a close proximity as they stood side by side, before the American spoke again.

"I had no idea that you were a 'train fiend'," Sawyer said, quoting her own words at how she used to like memorizing and making up the train timetables to help Jonathan.

She gave a little laugh. "We all have our strange hobbies."

xXx

A few days later:

The agent caught up with Mina in the library, and he was carrying a wrapped parcel. "I've got something for you. Sorry about the state of the wrapping, but I've never been very good at doing that."

Clearly intrigued, she undid the present and found a little wooden train. Her face shone with delight. "It's lovely! Thank you, Tom." She looked at the detailing. "Did you carve it yourself?"

"Yes. I was going to buy you a model at one of our stopovers, but decided to try making one. See, I do have more hobbies than guns." He could see how much his gift meant to her, and that meant even more to him as a result.

xXx

Also during those few days, Skinner indeed carried out his 'threat' about teaching Sawyer cricket, assisted by Jekyll. Rodney was wearing his hat and a light coat to aid in his coaching, and to hopefully avoid being accidentally hit.

"Until you pick up the game, we won't rope any of the crewmembers in or try to play it out on the deck. We'll just stick to this gymnasium."

_Less embarrassment for me,_ Tom thought."But all those fielders that are needed – if one of us is the batter –"

"Batsman."

"- and someone else is the pitcher and someone else is the catcher, then that's it! There's only three of us."

"Then we'll just have to move around a bit! By the way, kid, in cricket there is a bowler, not a pitcher, and a wicket keeper, not catcher. And just wait until you hear what some of the field positions are called."

Indeed, when Skinner filled him in on some of the terms, Tom thought he was having him on.

After all, what sort of game would have fielding in slips, as well as positions called gully, leg gully, third man, deep third man, deep cover, extra cover, deep extra cover, cover point, silly point, silly mid off, silly mid on, square leg, short square leg, deep square leg, fine leg (or long leg), short fine leg, deep fine leg, fly slip and so on . . . .

_I've definitely got to find a book about this game and see if he's having me on._ Cricket was played in some places in America, but it had not really caught on much and Tom only knew a few general things about it via newspapers and the like.

"And if you're good I'll even teach you how to bowl a maiden over," Skinner said with a chuckle.

The ex-thief then got back to business. "For now, since I'm not allowed to exert myself much, I'll mostly watch the fun and dole out advice, while Henry here can be bowler and fielder. And it's not like we're having a real game. We'll put one set of stumps up close to the wall for now, since there's no wicket keeper available to stand behind them and guard them. When we get more people in we can have the other stumps and other batsman. So don't worry about doing any running. Let's get you used to hitting first."

The stumps were three thin and round wooden posts of about thigh height, arranged in a row about four inches apart. The stumps had two little pieces of knobbly wood balanced along their tops – the 'bails'.

"For now we'll use a tennis ball instead of a cricket ball. Much softer, and that means we won't have to worry about all the padding and protection at the moment either."

Sawyer remembered pictures he had seen of the large leg pads the batters wore. They looked very awkward – strapped on from the ankles to above the knees. He was happy to give them a miss for now.

Jekyll picked up a cricket bat, and, with Skinner adding comments and advice, the doctor gave Tom a demonstration of where to position himself and how to hold the bat.

Skinner said, "Okay, the batsman stands at this line here just before the stumps, but not right in front of them, because the bowler has to try to knock your bails off – sounds painful, doesn't it? So if your legs are blocking the stumps, then that's not fair to the opposition. You can even get out by doing that."

He got Henry to do a few practise swings to show Tom, then the doctor handed the American the bat. Tom examined it. It was about the length of a baseball bat, but had a flatter and wider section to strike the ball with. It felt strange resting the tip of the bat on the ground, waiting for the ball to be bowled, instead of holding the bat up over his shoulder.

The spy tested the weight and gave some experimental swings. He had excellent hand-eye co-ordination, but this was literally a whole new ball game.

Jekyll had marked down a line around twenty-two yards from Tom. The doctor was going to run up to that line and then bowl the ball, trying to get it past the bat. The bowler usually made the ball bounce on the ground once before it reached the batsman, instead of pitching it like in baseball. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

Jekyll bowled. Tom missed, but luckily the ball didn't hit the stumps or bails. The second time the American connected with the ball, but not very well. On the third ball he got more confident, but his swing missed entirely and Jekyll's now warmed-up aim was true. The ball hit the stumps dead on and the bails went flying.

_If Allan is watching this from up above, he'd be having a great laugh at the moment. And I don't even want to think about what Hyde must be saying. _"So I've got two more strikes to go?" Sawyer asked.

"Nope, mate, you're out. But you're also the only batsman on the team at the moment, so you get to stay there a little longer. You'll get the hang of it quick enough," Skinner said, doing his best not to chuckle at Tom's awkward efforts. The kid was trying, after all. And with his energy and agility, he'd soon get good at it.

"Well, when I do, I'm going to return the favour and teach you two baseball."

"I can't wait. Here, look. I'll bowl a few to Henry so you get more of an idea." Skinner knew he should have done that first, but that would have taken away the fun of it.

"No bowling for you yet," Jekyll replied.

"Aw, come on! I'll even just bowl underarm! Geez, even my mam wasn't this coddling!"

xXx

Tom's cricketing skills steadily improved and he was wrapping his head around the rules. A book in the library confirmed that Skinner was not leading him astray; the game and rules and terms were strange enough already without the invisible man doing any creative embroidery on them. Jekyll told him stories about his own past cricket games at school.

"Okay, let me see if I've got this straight. The bowlers get interchanged; when a bowler has pitched - I mean bowled - six balls, that is called an 'over'. If no runs have been scored by the batsmen during that over, then it is called a 'maiden'. So that is how to bowl a maiden over, correct?" Sawyer asked.

"Yep, I'm proud of you," Skinner said. "Of course, I can fill you in on more fun ways of bowling one over . . . ."

Skinner gradually was able to participate in some of the training too. A group of the crewmen expressed an interest in forming teams and playing some matches or practices, but those plans and the American's training were interrupted by the arrival of the Nautilus in Africa.

Tom had been in Africa before due to his ballooning adventure at fourteen, but that had been across the Sahara and to Egypt, not further down. And during that time he had been wrapped up in seeing the lands from the Bible and '1001 Arabian Nights'. This time he was seeing things from the point of view that this was Allan's territory. He would learn more about him and the land he loved, and see what he saw. Then say goodbye to him for the last time.

Yes, there were flies and heat, but the landscape and the creatures more than compensated. Tom felt no need or desire to try to bring down any elephants with Matilda. Observing them was enough.

The League's arrival caused quite a sensation in Kenya. Even though the League tried to keep details like Hyde and Mina's vampirism to themselves, it proved difficult. A woman of Mina's breeding out here and as a member of this elite group was enough to cause fascination, and as well as Nemo's attire and regalness, and there was no way to hide Skinner's 'condition' unless they pretended in public that he wasn't there, which would have been too awkward. Rodney could not wear greasepaint in that heat anyway, and his skin was still a little tender from the healed burns, but he was well enough to travel as long as the pace was sensible. Since it was usually too hot to wear his leather trenchcoat, he often wore one made out of cotton instead.

The locals, both native and imperialist, were on the whole less shocked about an invisible man than had been expected though. As one of the hunters explained, "I've seen some amazing, mystical things in my time over here. And the natives will probably regard him as some sort of witch doctor or spirit."

Then just when they arrived at Nairobi, an accident occurred at the new Britannia Club, which was still under construction. Some of the scaffolding and beams started to collapse, and there was nothing for it but to rush in and make use of Mina and Jekyll's darker sides to halt the destruction enough to get the builders and workers out. So the local populace got quite a look, but the heroic efforts overrode a lot of the resulting fear.

The local doctor was Benjamin Hanrahan, whom Nemo had been in contact with, a rather pale but animated Englishman. Once he and the restored Jekyll and Mina had tended to the wounded, he wanted to meet the whole League properly, which he did at the hotel where they were going to stay while in Nairobi.

Dr Ben enthused as he introduced himself to each of them in turn, eager to find out what particular talents made them extraordinary. With Mina, he was amazed enough to find a woman chemist that it almost overshadowed the fact of her incredible strength and ability to become airborne, and he wanted to go over some inventions with Nemo and 'talk shop' with Jekyll.

When he came down the line to Tom, Tom saw the anticipatory look and thought, _I bet you're hoping I turn into a werewolf, right?_

As usual, Tom introduced himself not by his official title, but that he worked in law enforcement. His true work was only to be given out on a 'need to know' basis.

"So, young Thomas," the doctor asked eagerly as 'Young Thomas' tried not to wince, "what's your specialty?"

_What – law enforcement isn't noble enough a cause for you? I'm good at shooting and at getting people killed,_ he could not help thinking, despite the healing he had begun on the way to Africa and his decision to stay with the League if they became official. _If only I could really tell him. But so what if I could? I'm a Special Agent, but I don't feel very 'Special'._

"Nothing supernatural. Shooting. Adventuring. Optimism," he joked. _Mascot?_ he wondered.

"Oh." The doctor tried to conceal his surprise and disappointment that Tom's skills were so plain. Or perhaps he was wondering if the American was being coy or modest.

Nemo stepped in. "Tom went on a ballooning adventure in Africa at fourteen and solved a murder at fifteen, among a lot else." The spy wondered if the Captain had sensed that his self-esteem was at a low point, or if he wanted this doctor to realize there was more to the American than he thought. "He is a wonderful shot - almost supernaturally so - and is a valuable team member. He is also our resident optimist, a more important thing than one might think."

"Quite a shot, hey? You might want to go game hunting and see what you bag."

While chatting with the League it turned out that Hanrahan was so pasty-looking because he had only recently resumed his duties after a bout of illness that had left him bedridden for a while.

Doctor Hanrahan was the executor of Allan's will. Nemo gave him the will and documents from the lawyer in London, and Hanrahan went over them. The doctor said, "He wanted certain things to go to his friends Captain Good and Sir Henry, if they can be found. They are here in Africa but might be hard to contact. I will see how I go. The rest are to other people in easier reach – although there is one hunter in the will who died when the Britannia Club was destroyed – and various charities. There is an orphanage several days from here which will be very glad of the money and chattels he is giving them. Anything that is left over, Allan said I could distribute as I saw fit."

While the other League members talked about the trip so far, and the group of Nautilus crewmen they had brought with them did some tasks, Hanrahan and Nemo fell to discussing aspects of the paperwork. The latter men must have moved onto other things as well, because soon Hanrahan came up to Tom, holding Quatermain's coat and elephant gun.

"The Captain thought you would be interested in having these, young man. They might as well be with someone who appreciates them and can put them to use."

"I will. Thank you very much."

"Good. And the rest of the equipment for the gun is just over there."

Tom had been wanting to broach the subject of that gun, but had not been sure how best to go about it. Now that was solved. He sent an appreciative look Nemo's way and received an acknowledging nod.

Hanrahan took the League to see the cemetery. "It has been cleaned up a lot compared to what it was, because a lot of people were killed in the shoot out in the Britannia Club, or caught in the explosion that then destroyed it. This is the grave of Allan's son, Harry. That was an immense blow to him; his only child."

Tom could sense a few glances going to him at that comment, but he kept his eyes focused on the mound in front of him. He thought back to standing on the conning tower with Quatermain, of the adventurer telling him about Harry's death. Now here Tom was in Africa, at the grave, but to bury Allan.

He silently addressed his mentor's son. _I'm sorry I didn't get to know you. But I'm glad I got to meet your father. Just wish it could have been for longer._

"Quatermain said he had two wives. Are either of them buried here?" Skinner asked.

"No. The locations are far away. A few lovers are here though. Then he shut the world out entirely after Harry died." Hanrahan paused, then said, "Everything will be ready for the funeral tomorrow. He wanted to be buried here next to his boy. Some men will dig the grave later when it is cooler."

Tom sighed inwardly. He was struggling with his guilt again. Being in Africa, Quatermain's home, and the finality of being about to bury the hunter were bringing it all back. He knew that Mina was right when she told him that Allan would not have blamed him, heck, he himself had seen that truth in Allan's dying gaze and words, but somehow he could not rid himself entirely of these feelings of self-blame.

Perhaps it was more grieving than guilt. After all, the hunter's death was still very new. And his own self-doubts were not entirely at rest either.

_I'm the normal one in a league of incredible people. Hmmm, does that make me the 'abnormal' one instead?_

But Tom was also quite aware of his blessings. He was alive, he was with a group of amazing people who were now his friends and with them he had a chance to make a difference and help people, and travel the world. Even his employers were happy for that to continue. In a lot of ways it was an enviable position.

xXx

That evening, Skinner came out onto the lamp-lit verandah of the hotel, wearing his hat and his lighter trenchcoat. He found Mina already standing there at the railing.

"I should have known," she remarked to him with a sad smile.

"Known what?"

"I couldn't find Tom. Look over in the cemetery."

The former thief did so, then it all became clear. There by the light of lamps and a small fire was Tom, doggedly helping to dig Allan's grave.

"Ah," Skinner said. "I'd go help, but . . . ."

"You'd feel like you were intruding. Me too."

xXx

Tom eventually came back to the hotel, dirty, sweating, solemn and tired. _At least the exertion should help me sleep._ And thankfully the bugs had kept at bay – one of the other diggers had added something to the fire which came out in the smoke and acted as a very effective pest control.

In the lobby, Tom found Mina sitting at a small table, where it looked like she was writing letters or notes. Even so, he got the distinct impression that it was just to fill in the time while she specifically waited for him. Without a word she handed him a large glass of water. He downed it as if it was the first he had come across in days.

"Thank you." He leaned against an armchair, debating about whether to sit down.

She took the glass out of his hand and refilled it from a covered pitcher, then handed it back to him. "I spoke to the landlord; he is getting a bath ready in your room. Or as much of one as possible with water being such an important commodity here."

He gave a small chuckle and repeated his thanks, only wryly this time. He looked down at his clothes. Like many visitors to Nairobi, his first impression had been of the dust that came from the plains, its fine red particles covering and infiltrating everything. Now the digging he had done just added to the effect. His white shirt looked anything but white now, and was probably beyond saving. At least he had several others.

_Are you going to tuck me in too, Mina?_ He mentally slapped himself on her behalf. But there was a warmth in his heart at the care and kindness she was showing him.

Mina had originally been wanting to speak to him about how he was handling all of this, but for now she did what he had for her: be there, do what she could, and wait. As hard as it was.

xXx

The funeral was at dawn.

The local witch doctor was standing on the grassland outside the cemetery, over a small fire he kept throwing some sort of powder into. Tom had gotten to meet the witch doctor yesterday, who had greeted him but said little. The agent was not sure if that was due to a language barrier or something else, like distrust of these strangers.

After the service was read, the rest of the League gave Tom some time alone at the grave. He stood there with his Winchester. Even the others gathered who had no idea of the connection between Tom and Allan held back, sensing the importance of this and the depth of the young man's sorrow.

Jekyll sighed. He wished there was a way to help Tom with this pain. _What, like how you tried to isolate the evil in men?_ commented Hyde. Henry willed him to shut up and show some respect.

Physical pain he could treat, but this . . . .

At least Mina seemed to be able to get through to their youngest. And Tom did know the others were there for him.

_Speaking of which . . . ._

Henry exchanged looks with the others, passing silent agreement that now was the time to rejoin the agent. Even if he wasn't ready to leave the grave yet, it would be good to give him some company.

"You remember he swore Africa wouldn't let him die? I wish the old boy had been right," Skinner remarked as they lined up around the two Quatermain graves.

Tom's voice was quiet and husky. "What's next?" They had discussed possible plans ever since Mongolia, but now was the time to make a choice.

"I have long hidden away from the world," Nemo said, purpose in his eyes. "Now I wish to see it anew as the century turns. You are all welcome to join me." He looked at them all, a smile on his face. This mission had re-invigorated him.

"We've all been hiding in one form or another," came from Mina.

Tom saw her look right at him when she made the remark. _And what's that supposed to mean in regard to me? _he thought, with a bit of resentment.

_Stop it. She's only trying to help you. _

She certainly wasn't hiding in one way now – her black dress had a low neckline that he was sure had taken the rest of the League by surprise. He himself was too distracted already by other matters to be overly distracted by it.

_Well, it looks like we're going to stay together for now, even if we don't become an official League. _He was happy at the thought. _Though if we don't become an official League, I doubt the Service will let me stay. But for now I'm on vacation. They said I had to get back to them at the end of August, and that's not here yet._

Nemo said, "The Nautilus awaits."

"So who's coming?" Tom asked.

Nemo bowed to the grave, then moved off. Rodney and Henry then made their farewells.

"So long, old chap."

"Goodbye, Allan."

Mina paused for a long moment, then gave a soft and regretful, "Goodbye." She moved away, following after the others.

Tom could not say goodbye. He couldn't bring himself to say the word. But as he placed his prized rifle on the grave he did manage to say the word he wished he'd had a chance to in the fortress. "Thanks."

The young man took a deep breath, then stood up and walked purposefully away, towards the others, gaining confidence with every step forward. He would visit the grave again a few times before the League left Nairobi.

Now it was time to live, to make Allan and Huck proud.

Mina waited for him to catch up, and she made no comment about him leaving his gun behind. The gesture did not surprise her. She knew he had gotten another Winchester when they were in London after taking the freed scientists and their families to England. The one Tom had just given up was definitely not his newer one – the latter was not as ornately decorated.

She wanted to ask how Tom was feeling or to do something. However there was a danger of doing the wrong thing. She touched his arm for several long seconds before returning her hand to her side. He looked at her then for a moment, before offering her a smile and his arm. She gladly took both.

_I will keep an eye on him, Mr Q, I promise. We all will. Thank you for saving him. He will not let you down._

END PART TWO

Note: I was going to have the League stay at the famous Norfolk Hotel, which actor Stewart Granger mentioned in his autobiography (when he was over in Africa filming none other than a version of "King Solomon's Mines") but it was not opened until 1904. The Lonrho Hotels Kenya website I got the information from has an interesting description of what the area was like, including that dust.


	3. Chapter 3

**silverkitcat – **In regard to both your questions, there are some issues and dangers to be worked through first, but like Tom, I am always hopeful of a positive outcome! All will be revealed by the end of the trilogy, I promise. Thanks for your comments.

**EmmaSteed –** Glad to hear you're doing more writing (especially on that subject). I'll keep an eye out. Good luck with the essays!

**Ingra –** Yes, our sweet Tom is having some self-esteem issues, and the League and upcoming events are going to be addressing that problem in full force. Thank you; I enjoy writing for Mina and Tom.

**Sawyer Fan –** Thank you for all your help and for your feedback! In the movie I loved Tom's parting word at Allan's grave. I just wish we'd gotten a good look at his face at that point!

"Rubicon 2 – Africa" Chapter 3

by Ten Mara

Rating: T

CATEGORY: Story, Drama/Angst, Supernatural aspects, hints of potential Tom/Mina

DISCLAIMER: The literary characters referred to are copyright their respective authors, and "LXG: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" is copyright 20th Century Fox, based on the comic books by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill. The characters and movie universe are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. Characters not recognised are mine.

xXx

After Allan's funeral, people started assembling in the hotel to pay their respects to him and reminisce about the great white hunter. As the League headed into the building, Tom paused on the verandah and looked back, seeing that the witch doctor was still standing over his fire outside the cemetery. The witch doctor looked fixedly up at the sky for a long time, then shook his head and began extinguishing the fire.

The gathering at the hotel gave the League a chance to meet and mix with friends and colleagues of Quatermain. While there, Nemo made the suggestion that the League could go to the orphanage to see if they could do anything to help, like repairing buildings, and deliver any money or things of Allan's that Hanrahan could get ready. "While we are here, I think it would be a fitting thing, and allow us to see more of the land. Then we can go traveling elsewhere, as planned."

The other League members agreed. Jekyll suggested that it be 'sedately paced' traveling, like how they had gotten to Nairobi, with frequent stops. That not only allowed them to absorb the landscape, but most of them were not used to such a hot climate either. And with Skinner only so recently recovered from his injuries, it was a good idea to not rush around yet. He still had to get fully up to his old speed. Though of course his sense of humour was fine.

Hanrahan, who was with the group, said, "I think that Bennett, one of the hunters, is wanting to head that way on a trip soon. He was at the graveside; he should be around here somewhere. Ah – he's over by that bookcase. You can ask him and he would be a great guide and escort."

The doctor introduced the League to Hunter Bennett, a very gung-ho forty-year-old with an ego bigger than his moustache, who not only was willing to take them to the orphanage in question, but insisted that the group come stay as his guests at his own home. He lived half a day's journey from Nairobi, in the same direction as the orphanage.

"I have plenty of room, and you'll find it much better than this hotel. We've got a military man who has an idea to make a really first rate hotel here as soon as he can – I'm looking forward to seeing him achieve that aim! Anyway, come stay with me now and I can show you around the local area, then we can travel on to the orphanage and I could take you on some longer trips. There are a number of places of interest we could cover in even just two weeks, but it depends on things like the weather, movement of animals and so on as to the order in which we can do them. How about it?"

"Well, we did want to see the world. Why not start here? It is certainly a fascinating enough place," Henry commented.

Nemo saw that the others were not opposed to the idea either. "That sounds very agreeable, thank you."

Bennett said, "I'm heading back home tomorrow, first thing. Would you be ready to come with me then? I can get some supplies sorted during the next few days, ready for any further traveling."

"Doctor Hanrahan will probably not have everything ready for us to take to the orphanage by tomorrow, but we should be able to take something, and to give them some assistance," Nemo replied. Ben Hanrahan had excused himself after making the introductions, so at the moment he was not around to ask.

For a while they talked with Bennett, making plans. He was willing to take the traveling at a slow pace. "And we can spend as much time as you want at my place. I built there especially because of the location. There is plenty to see around there before we even go further afield or to the orphanage. The schedule can be very flexible." Then he went off to catch up with another hunter.

Tom mingled with some of the other mourners, finding out their connection to Allan and some recollections of him. Then he met up with Doctor Hanrahan again while getting a drink. "Sorted everything out with Bennett?" Hanrahan asked. When Sawyer explained their plans, the doctor said, "Good. I think you'll enjoy it. I'll try to get a few things ready for Captain Nemo to take. I've been wanting to go on an excursion of my own too, but between recuperating and waiting for the League to arrive, that's been on hold. However, if you lot are going away for a few weeks, then I'll take the opportunity. When I come back, I'll sort out more of Allan's estate. I can get some letters in the post before I go, to get some things underway."

"Where are you going?"

"Opposite direction to the orphanage. I do rounds of the outlying villages and settlements every so often to see how everyone is doing, give them med supplies and so on. Thanks to my illness I'm now overdue and impatient to get out there. In a way it is too bad you're heading off – you could have come with me if you'd liked. I usually have another person or two with me, but my regulars got killed when the Club went up. No one else has put their hand up, and I was going to hire someone." Seeing that Tom was looking distinctly curious, he added, "The help and the company are always handy, you'd get to see some great landscape, and I could tell you more about Quatermain."

"How long are you going for?" Tom asked. His interest was piqued, and a strange feeling stirred in him that he'd first had back on the Nautilus, when they were about to leave England for Africa to bury Quatermain.

"This circuit takes about a week, week and a half. I go in a wagon with my supplies."

Ten minutes later a thoughtful Sawyer rejoined the rest of the League, accompanied by Hanrahan. The others were sitting at a table, looking at maps of where they were going to go.

Mina discreetly studied the American to see how he was bearing up after burying his father figure.

"If I'm in Africa, I might as well try to see a lion," Skinner said. "It's not the same seeing them in zoos with their hearts broken."

"As long as that lion doesn't see you. Or rather, smell you," Mina remarked.

"You'd rescue me, wouldn't you, darling?"

"I'd think of it more in terms of rescuing the _lion_, actually."

"What are you most looking forward to seeing, Thomas?" Nemo asked, trying to hide his smile at Mina's comment in his beard, but the twinkle in his eyes gave it away. Then he saw the hesitancy on the young man's face and promptly lowered the map he was holding, looking concerned.

"Um, actually, I've decided not to come." That got the attention of all of his colleagues. "Hanrahan is going on some doctoring rounds of the villages and has invited me along. We'll be here again in a week or so, and I'll be waiting for you when you return. I can find plenty to keep me busy. The Doc says I can help sort out Allan's things when we get back." Then he would get to find out what Quatermain's home was like too – the League had not gone into that house yet.

Hanrahan chipped in, "Thomas can be my bodyguard as well as company, though I'm not expecting any trouble. The people all know me and that I'm here to help them. Though some wild animals of course won't know the difference, so it will be handy to have a good shot along if any get peckish or overly curious. And a good shoot is also useful when fresh meat is needed."

Just like at Allan's graveside, Tom felt eyes upon him, scrutinizing to try to judge his emotions, his reasonings.

Nemo finally nodded. "Very well, Thomas, if you are sure, then we will all meet up again here in two weeks."

Then Jekyll spoke up. "Well, perhaps I should come along with you too, Hanrahan, if you think my skills could be of some use?"

Hanrahan replied, "Actually, instead of coming with me, there are some places that I'd be very much obliged if you stopped in at on the way to the orphanage and beyond it, to see how they're going. We're heading in the opposite way, and I did want to see those people too at some point. But if you can do it, that will cover more ground and be better for them."

"I'd be happy to."

"Excellent. I'll give you the details and some medical supplies."

Nemo said, "And I will send word back to the Nautilus of our plans. I will go to the telegraph station soon." He would also enquire with the British Government about their current status.

xXx

The American was not surprised that Mina sought him out in private as soon as possible after his announcement. He found himself cynically thinking that she was either the elected League representative with the best chance of checking on his emotional state, then reporting it back, or over the next few hours one by one the others would come and do this too.

He could not help wishing that if Mina was going to visit him, it would not be to check up on him or to mother him, but for an entirely different purpose. . . . Then he made himself move well away from that line of thinking.

"Tom . . . ." Mina inwardly cursed her hesitancy. She had been trying to work out the best way to broach the subject, but was not getting off on the best foot. _What is the most diplomatic way to ask if he's going off because he still doesn't feel he belongs with the rest of us, or to prove himself, either to himself or to the doctor?_

He saved her further trouble and awkwardness. "I know what you're going to say and ask. I want to go for several reasons. Hanrahan knew Allan better and longer than Bennett did. I want to learn more about Allan and where he came from. Being with Hanrahan for that time will help me in that way and also I can help the people where I can. Then there will be the week or so here in Nairobi where I can do the same. It will be a good thing." Then he paused, before saying, "And also, I just have a very strong feeling that this trip is something I not only want to do, but have to do. That it's the right choice to make."

She saw the conviction in his eyes and nodded.

"Besides, it's not like I'm leaving the League for good. When we all regroup, we might have word about whether we're official or not." _Then we're going to have to work out who leads it. Or be told._

Suddenly Allan's voice resounded in his head. _And the boy becomes a man. Perhaps a leader of men._

Pride clashed with uncertainty in Tom at that assessment.

The others had seen him in a new, more mature light at that point when he had rallied them after Venice, and way before that, back home in St Petersburg, he was usually the ringleader. Indeed, when he was a teenager folk in his hometown were fond of commenting that he would make President one day, if he escaped hanging in the meantime. The Service had entrusted him with missions, including pursuing the Fantom to England.

But his natural self-assurance and confidence had taken quite a beating lately.

Besides, he doubted he would be chosen to lead the group. His age, lack of special abilities and lack of experience compared to the others would probably go against him with the British Government. Also the facts that he was an American and a Special Agent.

xXx

The League members were ready to split up for the next two weeks or so. The doctor was set with his lone wagon, and Bennett had prepared a group of wagons for his guests and supplies.

Tom and the others said their goodbyes with uncharacteristic awkwardness.

"Be careful," Mina told him, giving him a quick embrace.

"I've got Allan's gun and Nemo's training." _Perhaps a vial of Jekyll's formula would be handy too._

Then he thought wryly, _Anyone would think we're never going to see each other again!_

Mina had a feeling that things were going to be very different the next time she saw Tom. For good or bad, she could not tell. Perhaps they all sensed it to some degree. She recalled her silent promise to Allan, made as she had walked away from the grave, that they would keep an eye on him. But Sawyer was an adult, a _spy_ no less, clearly able to look after himself, and there had been no easy way to maneuver themselves into coming along with him, without the danger of raising his hackles about possible overprotection. Henry had almost managed an in with his suggestion about coming along to give medical help, but was thwarted.

As Sawyer and Hanrahan headed out of town, Tom noticed that the witch doctor was back, this time standing near Allan's grave instead of outside the cemetery like during the funeral. Though again there was a fire burning in a cleared spot outside the boundary, in the same place as before. _Some sort of native funeral rite? _Tom wondered. His rifle gleamed on the grave.

The last he saw was the witch doctor waving something over the grave, then he and Hanrahan were out of sight and heading off along the road.

"Thank you very much for the elephant gun," Tom said. "It means a lot to me. Allan gave me shooting lessons with it, and it was a big help on our mission."

"Glad to hear it. It seems to suit you, actually. You remind me of him in some ways."

After a while Tom heard a distant rumbling noise. He looked and saw dark clouds gathering on the horizon behind them, back over Nairobi. _Odd. Or is it? This country has such amazing animals, I shouldn't be surprised that its weather is just as strange._

And Hanrahan didn't seem to find anything weird about it, just giving a comment that he hoped the storm wouldn't move their way.

Sawyer's attention quickly turned to the exotic sights and sounds all around him. It was bush country and soon he saw a herd of gazelle giving the two humans very disdainful looks. Then the animals trotted off.

"Those are Grant's gazelle, or 'Tommies'," Hanrahan said with a laugh.

"Better than Tom Thumb or Peeping Tom or 'Tomfoolery'." _Though Aunt Polly has said that the latter was surely named with me in mind. She's surely right._

"There's another Tom in a story I heard Allan tell a few times. Bit of a dodgy chap though," the doctor commented.

Hanrahan told him a story of a time when Allan tried gold prospecting in the Transvaal. He had taken Harry along with him, the boy being about fourteen at the time. "As far as I know it was the only trip he took his son on when he was young. Allan had bought the mine off a Yankee, who had made his fortune and sworn he was only giving it up because he was sick of digging the gold out. But once the deal was done – 'now that there ain't any filthy lucre between us to obscure the features of the truth' - the Yankee revealed he thought the claim was worked out, then he hightailed it."

"We're not all like that. And I bet Allan was thrilled."

Hanrahan continued his tale, trying to tell it in Quatermain's own words as best he could remember. A good attempt at his accent even unconsciously crept in.

After three months Allan was nearly broke. One night he and Harry were sitting on the edge of the large hole they'd dug in the hill, and Allan counted out what little money he had left into his hand. A half-sovereign ended up falling into the hole. Naturally they tried to find it, and instead ended up finding a gold nugget the size of a large apple. Harry's joy had gotten away from him and he yelled in jubilation, thereby alerting anyone within earshot that there had been a significant find. Father and son then heard someone approaching. It turned out to be a bad character called 'Handspike Tom', who was said to have used a handspike to kill his mate.

Allan had concealed the find from him by sitting on the nugget. Trying to be as polite as possible while in pain from the hard 'seat' he was on, he made the best excuses he could about Harry's yells. Inwardly he thought that while rolling in gold was supposed to be very pleasant, sitting on it was anything but.

Allan was able to survive the night and cash in his riches, though they were quite insignificant compared to his diamond haul at King Solomon's Mines a decade or so later. The young spy laughed at the image of Allan trying to perch casually on top of the nugget. What a strange bird sitting on a strange egg that would have been.

But then came a section of the tale which was extremely poignant in hindsight.

_"'Harry,' I said presently, 'I am going away this week towards Delagoa to shoot buffalo. Shall I take you with me, or send you down to Durban?'_

_"'Oh, take me with you, father!' begged Harry, 'I want to kill a buffalo!'_

_"'And supposing that the buffalo kills you instead?' I asked._

_"'Oh, never mind,' he said, gaily, 'there are lots more where I came from.'_

_"I rebuked him for his flippancy, but in the end I consented to take him."_

Sawyer felt melancholy at those words. He wondered just what had happened years later on the mission that had ended up claiming Harry's life. The American wanted to ask the doctor, but for now let Hanrahan continue with this other tale, where the trip had become more about lions than buffalo.

The scenery continued to pass slowly, giving Tom ample opportunity to gaze at it. The trees lining the road were heavily populated with baboons, who were mostly busy scratching themselves and giving the travelers similar looks that the gazelle had bestowed.

xXx

Over the next few days they visited a few native villages and white settlements. Tom helped out where he could, both on the medical side under Hanrahan's directions and with helping to repair things. He saw what the settlers had done - in some places it was beneficial, in others, not.

Hanrahan was kind and non-superior to everyone, and while he and Tom journeyed, he answered the American's questions about Quatermain and told more stories. He was a good storyteller, but oh, to have been able to hear them from the source! _I did get to hear some though,_ Sawyer thought, reminding himself of the time he and Allan had spent together on the way to Mongolia.

Tom looked at the wonderful sights, including the amazing Masai warriors and their diet of blood and milk, and also wished Allan was there to show them himself. But Sawyer was glad he was getting to see them, and to go some small way towards helping the people and places that Allan knew.

One port of call was to a farm owned by a British couple, the Sydneys. The husband took safaris with wealthy people. The house was very comfortable, and the wife was lovely, filling Hanrahan in on the health of the local population, as she was like a doctor for those on the farm and surrounds when needed, including midwifery duties. He had brought her more medical supplies. The native servants adored the couple, and had their own allotments to grow crops in. The workers were looked after and their children educated. Indeed, some of the children proudly sang songs and nursery rhymes to Tom and Hanrahan during their stay. The children (and a number of the women) were fascinated by the American's blonde hair and green eyes and accent.

And that strange feeling of certainty was not only in him again, but growing stronger with each stop. As Tom and the doctor approached their next port of call, a plantation, the spy knew without a doubt that the feeling was reaching its peak. Somehow, coming to this particular location was his destiny.

He took a deep breath. _Now to find out **why**._

END PART THREE

Notes: The tale Hanrahan was telling Tom about gold prospecting and buffalo hunting (including the quoted dialogue between Harry and Allan) is from the Allan Quatermain short story "A Tale of Three Lions" by H Rider Haggard, which was released in the novel "Allan's Wife".

The wildlife details about the trip Tom is taking and the details about the people I have called the "Sydneys" are from Stewart Granger's autobiography, "Sparks Fly Upwards".

This is a shorter chapter than usual, because it was taking me longer than I thought to finish the rewriting of a few scenes in the second half of it, so I decided to just post the first half out for now and keep tweaking the rest. But the drama mentioned in the summary is fast approaching. I promise! Shutting up now . . . .


	4. Chapter 4

**Sawyer Fan – **Thank you very much. The answer to that feeling will be revealed in this chapter, though it won't be one that will have our Tom jumping with joy. I hope your feeling pans out too! And I'm waiting for more chapters of your work, which I hope are coming soon.

"Rubicon 2 – Africa" Chapter 4

by Ten Mara

Rating: T

CATEGORY: Story, Drama/Angst, Supernatural aspects, hints of potential Tom/Mina

DISCLAIMER: The literary characters referred to are copyright their respective authors, and "LXG: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" is copyright 20th Century Fox, based on the comic books by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill. The characters and movie universe are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. Characters not recognised are mine.

xXx

Doctor and spy were traveling around in an arc, so even though they had been traveling for four days now, they were only about one full day's travel from Nairobi itself, by wagon.

"This next plantation is unfortunately not like the Sydneys' farm. I wish it was . . . ." Hanrahan commented. "They're British too, and have been out here for about eight years. They have quite the superiority complex, and not just over their workers, but lately the plantation has been struggling. They've had a run of bad luck, not the least being that a few months ago two of the sons were killed by wild game while on a hunting expedition. The father has been burying himself in work, and everyone else too. But there are not enough people to do everything that needs doing."

The strange feeling of destiny was still in Tom as he listened to that news. Extremely curious about this place, which he had never been before but somehow knew was very important, the American was impatient to actually see it. Soon the plantation came into view in the morning light. Through the gate was a large house with a screened-in verandah and a series of outbuildings. He could see the fields beyond the house.

The doctor said, "Further down the road is a village. The workers come from there. This area is fairly sparse of game now, so the plantation is about the main source of food for the natives."

They went through the gate, and people were appearing from everywhere to look at the arrivals. Tom very quickly saw what Hanrahan meant. The natives he saw were nowhere near as looked-after and content.

The doctor said, "See over on the verandah? That big bear of a man is Mr Barrington, the owner of the plantation. The dark haired youth nearest to him is one of his surviving sons, the young lady is his daughter, and that young blonde man is his nephew. You probably won't get proper introductions out of Barrington, so I thought I'd better point them out to you now."

Mr Barrington greeted them, but with an impatient, bitter air. As the doctor alighted from the wagon, the owner said, "I'm glad you're here," although the tone more than implied that the doctor should have been here sooner. "We were just about to send for you, or Mrs Sydney. One of my boys and my elder brother and some of the workers have got a touch of fever. The buggers probably gave it to our'uns. Hurry on."

Barrington then turned to the young blonde man. "Jacob, get someone to see to the wagon and horses, and you keep an eye on the west field so the workers don't slack off."

"Yes, sir," his nephew replied.

Mr Barrington quickly issued orders to his son and daughter about more work to be done. The daughter was regarding Tom with poorly disguised interest as they left to obey his commands. The American's first impressions of Barrington's children were that they were full of spoilt haughtiness but downtrodden too by the force of their father's personality and the recent losses.

When Barrington heard Tom's accent, he said, "Yankee, aren't you? You're a long way from home," as he led the doctor and Sawyer into the house. But it was clear he was just making an observation and not wanting to engage in a conversation about it.

The doctor took in his medical bag in with him, but not the chest, asking one of the men to carefully take it into the parlor of the house instead. "How many people are affected?" Hanrahan asked along the way.

"I told you - two of our family," Barrington answered.

"Yes, and how many others?"

"I don't now how many natives," he said with impatience, clearly finding it irrelevant. "I think a few here, a couple more in the village."

He led them to the doorway of a bedroom. Tom could see that the curtains were drawn, but lamps were lit. Barrington looked through the doorway, then muttered, "Where's my bloody wife? Probably in the garden having a tipple . . . . She'll be back in soon. Simon and Alexander are in there, and our medicine chest is in there too if you need it. I've got to get back to work – I'm behind schedule enough as is. Fix my kin up and fill me in about it at supper. I'll square it with you then. Get them back on their feet as soon as possible. I need them." And off he went.

The American stared at his rapidly retreating back, privately trying to work out if the man was naturally as abrupt and unfeeling as he appeared, or whether recent events had caused this behaviour. Barrington had seemed very reluctant to enter the sickroom.

xXx

The two men were feverish but still lucid, and answered Hanrahan's questions, including how long they had been ill. Mrs Barrington had not shown up by the time the doctor had finished his examinations. He then quickly looked through the Barrington's medicine chest, before excusing himself. He indicated for Tom join him, and they moved off across the room.

Sawyer watched him with growing concern. There was something in the way that Hanrahan had looked through the medicine chest, and the anxious look on his face . . . .

"I know this illness," the doctor told him with quiet gravity and urgency. "We need to go to my medicine chest. I don't have what I need in this bag and they don't have it either."

Tom instantly knew for sure that this was a _lot_ more serious than Mr Barrington or anyone had realised.

"This is 'Black Darrow' fever," Ben explained softly as they hurried down the empty hallway. "It is caused by tiny parasites and gives the victim a dangerously high temperature. It is contagious and usually fatal if left untreated."

_Fatal?_ _Contagious?_

"Are you sure it's that fever?"

"Yes. One distinct symptom is a purple rash on the skin, in the armpits. They've both got it."

"But you've got a cure?"

"Yes, but I only have so much of the medication with me. This is a rare illness that doesn't flare up for years at a time. Drinking a full cup of the medicine usually cures the sickness within a few hours – that's enough to kill off all the parasites - while a tablespoon of the mixture kills off some of the parasites, which buys the victim more time. They'll still be pretty sick and uncomfortable though."

"In what ways is it contagious?" Tom asked, not really sure if he wanted the answer.

"There could be a number of ways. Close contact seems to be one. Not necessarily just touch either. Probably via breath. It seems to be that by the time the sickness starts to show its symptoms, the victims are already past the contagious stage, so there is no way of knowing who is spreading it around inadvertently. We've most likely already been exposed to it just in meeting Barrington and those few others."

The agent took a deep breath, trying not to focus on the grim likelihood that he was in the middle of such danger but instead on what could be done.

By this stage they had reached the parlor, and Hanrahan swiftly but carefully searched through the medicine chest. He lifted a stoppered bottle out of a corner of the chest. It was made of dark glass, so Tom could not see the contents. He watched as the doctor solemnly weighed the bottle in his hand. "About one and a half cupfuls . . . ." Hanrahan muttered. "I've got more back in Nairobi."

_But for now we've only enough to cure one person outright, _Tom thought.

Hanrahan transferred the bottle to his medicine bag. "Come on, I need to go see the affected workers and find out how bad they are."

Tom felt nervous but reminded himself that even one and a half cups was plenty of tablespoonfuls of medicine. "How much time does a spoonful of the medicine give?" _Hopefully long enough so we can get more._

"It is enough to keep the fever from going dangerously high for about four days. If after that they have not had the full dose, then they are in grave danger again because the parasites in their system have then had time to build their numbers back up to a dangerous level and become stronger. So another spoonful of the medicine won't have the same 'buying time' effect."

As they went out onto the verandah and then headed in the direction of the worker buildings, Tom was glad that not many people were around. Everyone was busy at their work. Hanrahan seemed glad too. They both kept their pace unhurried at the doctor's suggestion, so not to send off alarm bells and panic.

The doctor told Tom quietly as they walked, "I want to give everyone who is afflicted the tablespoonful, while sending riders out for more medication. Hopefully we've come across this in time to hold these people on a tablespoonful each until more comes, instead of having them too sick to respond to anything but a full cup. But I need to find out how long the workers have been ill for to be sure and to check about the village."

The American nodded and took a deep breath. Suddenly this wide, endless land was feeling very closed in and imprisoning in one way, and far too wide and endless in another. "The nearest telegraph station is in Nairobi, isn't it?"

"Yes. And hopefully the telegraph isn't down . . . . So one or two riders need to get there to have the message sent out, and to get more medicine from Nairobi itself. Also, if they can get a message to your League, the League can bring more, not to mention the raw materials needed, because they are in an area where the vital ingredient, a plant, comes from. Or if someone else can get and bring those leaves. We need lots of them."

"Mina and Henry are chemists too. They can distill it and make more of the cure!" _Not to mention Henry's doctoring skills would be a great help._

"Perfect. I just hope they are easy to find. They might still be at Bennett's place, or exploring or on their way to the orphanage. Hopefully they are still at Bennett's. That will give enough time for them to get here, if everyone can hold on."

"But how do we know that the riders we send won't be carrying the illness with them?"

"We'll try to use people more likely to have been isolated. And they'll just have to get to the outskirts of Nairobi and the Sydneys' farm and call out their messages and needs. Then Nairobi can use the telegraph, and also send riders to find Bennett and other help, and send someone back to here. That's the best that can be done. And out here those are the only possible places I can think of that can give us the help we need. The rest are too far."

"I could be a rider, unless you think I've already been exposed too much."

"You don't know this area like everyone else does. You could go with one of the others, but I need you here. You and your guns, because I have a feeling that Barrington is going to be a problem."

"Sure."

And so their battle began.

xXx

Hanrahan moved fast. While Barrington and Co were off at one end of the plantation, he chose riders, filled them in on the situation, and got them ready, giving them each a list of requirements and necessary ingredients.

The doctor and Sawyer were able to talk to a man who had just come back from the village and find out the details from him about the sick people. Fortunately there were not many sick so far. The doctor gave those affected at the plantation, including Barrington's son and brother, a tablespoon of the medicine.

Then he and Tom headed to the village.

On the way Sawyer made a comment about how a whole cup seemed like a large dose to have to take.

"It would seem so, but with a parasite-based illness, the aim is to wipe out the parasites. Fortunately the parasites that cause this illness are very sensitive to the medicine, and it is not very toxic to the body when taken. So the cupful might make the patient feel nauseous and headachy, but that's a small price to pay. And they'd already be going through worse than that anyway."

_Parasites . . . . _Tom was aware of that term from his wide reading, but even he found it hard to believe that tiny things called germs, invisible to the naked eye, could be making people sick. _But something has to be causing this, and that's what the doctor says. Hard to prove, either way!_

Hanrahan kept on about them, rambling a bit due to nerves. "Generally parasites are carried by flies, ticks, mosquitoes, that sort of thing, rather than person to person. But with the rate this sickness spreads, it seems to be more than that. These parasites may be so small that they can actually be transmitted via the respiratory system. Incredible," he mused.

At the village, they found that like with those stricken at the plantation, fortunately no one was as yet sick enough or long enough to need the full dose of medicine, just as the worker had said. Hanrahan gave the affected people the temporary medication. He explained that he would either be back to give more doses later in the day to anyone else who got sick, or would send word when he had a spot fixed up on the plantation as a temporary hospital for the sick to be brought to.

He encouraged the unaffected people to tie cloth around their mouths and noses in an attempt to prevent catching the fever. Though he privately told Tom that doing so was probably ineffective anyway. "At least they'll have the illusion that they are doing something preventative. That can often mean a lot."

xXx

On the way back from the village, the American and Hanrahan discussed Mr Barrington.

"But if there is only about one and a half cupfuls – even less now that you've started dosing people – then Barrington can't expect you to cure both of his sick kin," Tom said. "Especially since that would be it for the medicine until the riders get more. There wouldn't be enough left for tablespoonfuls if anyone else in his family got sick."

"He'd probably want me to use a cupful on his son at least, thereby substantially reducing the amount left to hold everyone else on. And he'd want the rest kept for his family, not for the natives. He most likely does not know how much medicine is needed for this anyway, so hopefully I can bluff him until more arrives, because although your reasoning is sound, _his_ isn't at the moment."

Hanrahan sighed and continued on, "He'll just focus on his family, especially the fact that his son is sick, to the exclusion of all else. Otherwise he probably would be more reasonable about the sick natives, even if to make sure they got dosed after holding enough tablespoonfuls in reserve for every member of his family. But now, if he knew the truth, he could try to take the medicine by force."

Tom considered that. "I've got my guns, but I think there's the potential it could become a pretty messy situation. I could try hobbling the contents of any gun cupboards while Barrington and the others are outside and distracted, but I'm sure they're still carrying something on their persons at this very moment." _And one or two bullets could be all it could take._

The doctor sighed. "I know. There's got to be some way . . . ."

"We could lie," Tom suggested. "Now, before anyone knows just how much medicine you've got on you, we hide half of it or whatever somewhere safe, and when Mr Barrington does find out about the sickness he'll think there's only enough for tablespoonfuls. We can keep rationing it out as needed as more people come in."

"I'm not a very good liar, but it's a good plan. Let's give it a shot." Hanrahan sighed again. "I should have had more of the medicine in the chest, but over here we usually don't bother – we need room for more immediate necessities, and since a spoonful is enough to hold people on, there's usually plenty of time to make more."

The spy tried to give some reassurance, then a thought occurred to him. "Can a tablespoonful be given to _prevent_ the illness from even starting in someone?"

Hanrahan shook his head. "It can only be given when the symptoms of the illness become apparent, otherwise it is not effective. Taking it as a precaution before then is a waste."

"What about dilutions of the medicine? Would that be effective at holding the temperature down for a bit and stretch the supply out a little?"

"It has to be a full strength tablespoonful."

_Great . . . ._

xXx

When they returned from the village, a very angry Mr Barrington was waiting for them in the driveway outside the house with his wife, daughter and Jacob, and a few men. There were no workers in the immediate vicinity. They were hard at work in the fields and at various tasks.

It turned out that Barrington had mentioned the purple rash at one point during the morning, and one of his men had recognised that those were symptomatic of Black Darrow fever, having come across it the previous year in another region. The man knew of the cure, so when Barrington went and questioned his relatives, he had found that neither of them had received a cupful.

"Give my son and brother the full doses NOW," Barrington demanded.

Tom stood near Hanrahan, ready to step in if necessary. The doctor was facing Barrington – or as near as his small frame could get compared to the owner's – with grim determination.

"There is not enough for two full doses; there was not even before I started giving out the spoonfuls," the doctor said. Tom could tell that Hanrahan was trying to bluff as best he could. Hopefully it would be enough to fool the Barringtons.

"You're not going to save my Alexander?" Mrs Barrington asked Hanrahan, in tears. The daughter was now not looking at Sawyer with any sort of infatuation at all.

"I am going to save him. I'm going to save _everyone_," Ben stressed.

"How do I know you aren't lying about how much medicine you're got? And you've gone and given some to the natives?" Barrington pulled in his anger with visible effort. He eyed the doctor closely. "You are lying. Give my son a full cup – I am not losing another child."

"At this stage your son is not at the level that requires the full dose or nothing. He and your brother are healthy men. The spoonful will hold them for four days, long enough for help to come. I've sent riders off."

"From my workers, without getting my permission!"

"I have decided the best course of action. This was, and still is, an emergency, and they had to ride out immediately," the doctor couldn't help firing back, pulling rank. "We just have to be calm and wait here, and all will turn out well. If we -"

"We can't afford to waste the medicine!"

"You're right – we can't afford to waste it just by using it up on two people. I assure you I am not lying. There is not enough to heal two. But there _is_ enough for those who are ailing and those who will get sick to have a tablespoonful each. Will you not think of them all?"

"My family comes first."

Frustration was clear on Hanrahan's face. "You're a churchgoing man, Mr Barrington," the doctor said, "The words 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you' should mean something to you? Your workers are human beings too, and it is about time you treated them with compassion."

The Barringtons were clearly appalled at the accusation, but Mrs Barrington did not say anything again, instead letting her husband do the answering. "They work for us," the plantation owner snapped back. "They were put here to work for us. We feed them and try to teach them right from wrong. How dare you use the Lord's words against us! I always knew you had weird ideas about the natives, but that has no place here, especially not now. This is about my family."

The situation was getting to the doctor and he fired back an inflammatory reply, which had the plantation owner nearly at his throat.

Tom could no longer keep quiet or still. The agent knew these people would unfortunately not listen to or believe any argument he made about the rights of the natives. Sadly, to these people's point of view, they were doing nothing wrong. But he could try one angle that might give them pause and also hopefully defuse the looming fight.

He interrupted the two men. "What about the plantation? Your livelihood? You can't afford to lose your workers or to get more. Helping them now makes sense."

"Not at the cost of my own flesh and blood. And this place is nearly done for anyway. Workers are easier to replace than family." Barrington turned to the doctor. "Give me the medicine. _We_ will hold it and distribute it as needed."

_Yeah, as your family need it._

Barrington's losses and world view were blinding him to the logic of giving everyone a chance at survival. Tom could well imagine the strain that having a sick son would be placing on the man now. Hanrahan's fears were coming true.

Mrs Barrington was crying harder now, nearly being held up by her daughter.

"Where is the rest of the medicine?" Jacob demanded, when Tom and the doctor remained silent.

"Being put to good use," Doctor Ben insisted.

Barrington let out an ugly laugh. "So, Doctor, you and your 'bodyguard' here think we're going to let you just pour the medicine into the dirt? Not a chance. You're only two men, and we have guns too. More than you do." Indeed, his small group of white men looked chomping at the bit for their leader to give them the word to use those weapons.

Tom wasn't sure if his next move would work, but since words were not working, it was worth a try. "So we take guns out of the picture and even the odds. I'll fight you. Winner gets control of the medicine."

Everyone gave the American an amazed look, including Hanrahan. Jacob laughed, but there was also actually a little bit of admiration in his eyes.

"You have an amusing notion of 'even', boy, I'll give you that," Barrington said, making no attempt to disguise his amusement.

_You're an over-six foot bully, but you don't know that I've had training by the Secret Service and by martial arts experts. I think that and your overconfidence evens things out more than **you** think. _

Though there was the problem that even if Sawyer did win, Mr Barrington probably would not relinquish his desire to seize the medicine. Still, it was worth a shot, or rather worth trying to avoid someone _getting_ shot.

"All right. Put down those guns and we'll settle this. Wrestling, boxing, 'to the death'?" Mr Barrington asked mockingly.

"Hand to hand, with no tricks like dirt in the eyes. The opponent has to be downed."

"Fine. Best of three falls?"

Tom nodded. "And you promise that the winner gets control of the medicine?"

"Yes." It was clearly not something that Barrington thought would be a problem, however the agent hoped somewhere in the man there was a sense of honour which would bind him to keep the promise.

_Though in this sort of situation, even the most honourable of men could lie to ensure their children were cured . . . . _

A few of the men drew a rough circle in the dirt. Tom handed his shoulder holster to the worried Doctor, then gave him a reassuring look and strode into the makeshift arena.

Barrington did not waste time. He raced forward like the American was responsible for every bad thing that had ever happened to him. Tom whisked out of the way just enough, and helped him along in his rush. Right along – and flipped, with a few well placed and very quick judo chops.

Within seconds the huge man was lying flat on his back on the ground, his eyes almost as big as his mouth, which was gasping for air and with astonishment. With a roar, he rolled over, got up, and charged again.

And again hit the road, aided by Tom and his own rushing body weight.

Barrington was helped up by Jacob. Humiliated and furious, he did not try anything more, apart from commenting, "That wins you nothing."

_Except an enemy. Don't worry, this fever will probably take care of me for you, _Sawyer thought as the plantation owner stalked unsteadily away.

xXx

Mr Barrington's men had tried searching for the extra medicine, but to no avail. Fortunately Tom and Hanrahan had hidden it well amongst their possessions on the way back from the village. Tom was worried that Barrington's men were going to threaten to shoot someone to get them to tell. So he lied to them, being much better at it than the doctor, and hoped they fell for it.

"There's not enough medicine left for a cupful by now. So even if you found it, you couldn't cure anyone with it. But more will be coming." The latter was the truth anyway, and the former was coming true with each dose given.

The villagers and workers were on the whole calm about the situation, because they knew and trusted the doctor. They believed he would do whatever was right for them and had faith that he was not abandoning them.

Soon after the American lied to Barrington's men about how much medicine was left, the spy and the doctor were starting to get the largest outbuilding ready as a makeshift hospital, already having some new patients. Then noises outside made them hurry to see what was going on.

Barrington's sick son and brother were being loaded onto mattresses in the back of a wagon. Other members of the family and the other white helpers were getting into other wagons with supplies and luggage, or onto horses.

"Stop!" the doctor yelled, hurrying forwards. "We can't take any of the sick to Nairobi or anyplace else. I told you that – we've got to stay at this epicenter and wait for the medicine. We can't risk any more spread of this fever."

"We're not waiting. We're getting," Barrington said. "Getting out and getting medicine ourselves, since you've used so much of it up."

"You've already been exposed. Stay here, please."

"Jacob is staying here, but just to keep an eye on the place. He's not coming anywhere near you." Barrington gestured towards the outbuildings, but the doctor and the spy could not see the man's nephew. He was probably somewhere supervising the workers. "And just wait until all this is over and we come back, if I don't decide to get rid of this place entirely. If you're still alive, you're going to wish you weren't."

Hanrahan ignored the threat. "The victims aren't contagious anymore, but you probably are!"

"You don't know that for sure."

Tom drew his pistols and pointed them at Mr Barrington. "Step down. You're not leaving."

"You want a duel now, Yankee?" he replied mockingly. "Well, you can shoot me in the back like a true gentleman. It'll be a damn sight quicker and cleaner death than what's waiting if we stay here."

The doctor pointed out, "But if any of you get sick before you reach Nairobi or a place that might have the medicine, you won't even have a spoonful of the cure to take to hold their temperature at a constant."

"And guess whose fault that is?" Having got in his dig, Barrington slapped the reins and set the wagon in motion.

Tom tracked him with the barrels, but did not fire. Then he lowered the pistols, watching the wagons and horses file through the open gates. He hadn't been able to prevent them leaving, and his own words and actions may well have instigated it in the first place.

But when he turned shamefacedly to the doctor, Hanrahan yelled out to Barrington to wait. Then once he saw that the plantation owner was doing so, Ben hurried off into the building where they were starting the hospital. He came out in a minute, and hurried over to the fence, where Barrington was still sitting in the wagon. Tom followed, and found that Hanrahan was giving him a small container with a little of the medicine in it, in case anyone got sick on the way.

Barrington didn't even thank him, just make sure it was safely stowed, then he went on.

The spy and the doctor watched.

"I'm sorry," Tom said.

"It's all right. Probably better off without them," Hanrahan said philosophically. "It was going to be impossible to keep everyone here anyway. Some were bound to slip the net or already have. And now that we don't have that family breathing down our necks, we can commandeer the plantation house. It will be a much better place to set up the beds, and we'll have more access to the water and food and so on."

"I can't believe Jacob is staying. Or that he'll let us do that."

"In regard to the former, he's probably honoured that Barrington is entrusting him with the task, in a twisted kind of a way. Barrington took him in when he was orphaned, so he's got a great loyalty to him."

"But don't you think Jacob will be a problem with us taking over the house?" Tom asked.

"He lives in one of the other buildings anyway. He'll probably kick up a fuss, but at least now we're dealing with just him and a few others. He's got to try to keep the plantation running with what workers he still has anyway, so that might keep him distracted and out of our way."

"I'll guard the medicine," Tom vowed.

"If I'm right, within a day there won't be much left to guard, even though it is by the tablespoon. People are going to start dropping like flies."

Both men looked at each other. They were well aware of the gamble they were taking, and just hoped it would pay off. If so, pretty much everyone would be saved. _And if not, we've condemned them all to death._

Ben gave an apologetic look. "I'm sorry you got caught up in all this, Thomas."

"Hey, you didn't drag me out here. I came willingly."

The doctor gave a wry chuckle. "Let's get back to work."

xXx

They did manage to get around Jacob - as soon as he realized that they had carried sick people into the house he wouldn't go near it, even though he was not happy at them taking over. So he kept an eye on proceedings from his outbuilding or the fields, with a few of his workers and remaining men.

"The irony is that he probably won't catch the fever from these people," Hanrahan said. "But he probably doesn't believe that and is being very cautious, and that is fine by me."

Word was spread that those on the plantation and at the village who became sick were to be brought to the house.

Soon, as predicted, there was quite the influx of victims. Tom and the doctor and some willing helpers were busy taking care of the sick and rationing out the precious medication.

Tom felt guilty that he couldn't stop Barrington and his family from leaving or get them to help out. _But I know we just have to keep everything going until more medicine and the League arrive. Focus and optimism. _

So in one of the rooms of the house he tried to set up as much equipment as possible that the doctor said would be needed for the medicine to be produced with. And he also arranged for little bonfires and braziers to be set up at appropriate places along the side of the plantation that was against the road, to guide any riders if they arrived at night.

More sick people were coming in, all natives. Others from the village and the so-far uninfected people still on the plantation were leaving supplies near the main gate to help out, but not coming any closer.

Parents whose children were stricken stayed by their bedsides taking care of them, and soon needed to be put to bed themselves.

At one point Sawyer was outside, and saw Jacob watching proceedings from the verandah of his building.

"And what the hell are you doing skulking over _there_, Jacob?" Tom snapped.

"Staying _out_ of hell, thank you very much," came the firm reply, delivered in a manner very much like Dorian Grey.

xXx

Tom and the doctor were hurrying around the room that used to be the parlor, tending to the people now abed in it, when Tom saw Ben suddenly sway and grab hold of a piece of furniture to steady himself. The Englishman straightened carefully, looking grim, and saw that Sawyer had witnessed the incident.

The American moved quickly around from one of the beds to be at the doctor's side, and looked at him closely.

"You've got it, haven't you?" Tom asked Hanrahan.

"Yes. Damn it. I think I've come down with it so fast because of my recent illness. Body probably wasn't up to snuff." He seemed to be angry with himself.

"Come on, let's find you a bed. And no arguments."

Hanrahan sighed and reluctantly nodded. "How are you holding up?"

"So far, so good."

"A healthy system would probably be able to fight the parasites for longer before succumbing. Some people are bound to be naturally immune to it too. Or have had it before, though it hasn't been around these parts for a long time."

"So let's hope that our helpers fall into those categories."

Tom helped Hanrahan to bed and gave him a tablespoonful of the medicine. "You'll take care of things, won't you?" the doctor asked anxiously.

"You know I will."

The doctor nodded, but kept saying to him not to forget this or that. Tom felt partly irritated by the condescension, but also was insightful enough to see that it was the doctor's way of trying not to give in to the fever. He was still the doctor and still felt responsible, that he should be contributing. And it wasn't like he was able to leave things in the hands of someone who _was_ a doctor. But the agent had been observing and helping Hanrahan even before they had arrived here, and his excellent memory would be of great use in this situation.

There was soon some panic though when people saw or realised that Hanrahan had come down with the fever too. Even the smart doctor couldn't protect himself against the illness. And the village witch doctor had died a few months previous, without a replacement, so there was no help from that quarter either.

Now the whole burden was on Tom's shoulders, and on a dwindling team of able-bodied helpers.

The spy was full of insecurity at the situation, but he kept his feelings off his face and soldiered on.

END PART FOUR


	5. Chapter 5

**Sawyer Fan **– Thanks, as always for your encouragement - it is fun to write fight scenes and optimism scenes for such a spunk. Mr Barrington didn't know who he was messing with!

**Falling star** – Thank you, and I hope you continue to be right! I like to try to post once a week, but it just depends on how complex things are in the particular chapter. Now the 'hospital drama' bit is really kicking in.

**Ingra** – Good to hear from you again. I'd hate to be without a computer even for a day! Glad you're enjoying the story, and as for whether Tom gets sick: the answer is in this chapter.

"Rubicon 2 – Africa" Chapter 5

by Ten Mara

Rating: T

CATEGORY: Story, Drama/Angst, Supernatural aspects, hints of potential Tom/Mina

DISCLAIMER: The literary characters referred to are copyright their respective authors, and "LXG: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" is copyright 20th Century Fox, based on the comic books by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill. The characters and movie universe are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. Characters not recognised are mine.

xXx

The medicine ran out soon after Hanrahan got his dose.

While racing back and forth helping to take care of people and do duties that needed attending to, Tom thought back to how he had the feeling that something important was going to happen in Africa, that coming with this doctor felt like the right choice to make.

_And look how it has turned out!_ he thought with bitter irony. _But in a way it was my destiny to be here, no matter what happens. I know it. I have to try._

So he did his best to push aside his bundle of anxieties, determined to do his utmost to keep these people alive, despite the fact that he had no 'extraordinary' gifts like the others of the League.

_I'm out of medicine, I'm out of my league - literally . . . . Was I even **in** it when I was with the others? Stop it – yes, I was!_

_But if only the others were here. They could – no, they aren't. It's you. Live with that. Work with what you've got. You can still put up a hell of a fight. Just too bad you can't use your guns against this threat._

Mina had said to Tom back on the Nautilus that he was a natural leader. They had all gotten glimpses of it during their first mission. Now that ability was truly kicking in at this makeshift hospital.

Doctor Hanrahan, the patients and helpers saw this and responded to it, sick or not. Tom and his optimism and determination gave them hope. Some of the helpers had been tempted to give into their fears and flee or panic, but his example changed that. They could see that he wouldn't ask them to do anything that he wouldn't do himself.

_The mark of a leader or hero is often someone who keeps their head when everyone else around them is losing theirs,_ Tom thought._ Or, _he couldn't help adding wryly,_ it means that person may not have fully grasped the situation!_

One thing he kept reiterating with as much cheer as he could muster was that the riders or help would be here soon. That thought kept him going as much as the others.

Only trouble was . . . .

There was no sign. Tom was getting more and more worried and trying not to show it. There should have definitely been a rider by now, either one they had sent, or someone from the plantation of the Sydneys or Nairobi itself.

_What if Barrington or his men ambushed the riders or the fever got them on the way, or the sickness has reached those other places? Then there's no medicine to spare. But surely the League will come. If they've been found . . . . _Because after all, he knew their itinerary was not set in stone. _There is still time. Someone will come. I just have to be patient._

Tom turned his focus away from worrying. He concentrated on the things he could control instead, or do his best with: like assisting with keeping the patients comfortable, making sure the makeshift hospital was running properly, that there was always water being boiled for drinking and use – essential with all the laundry and dishes and people to be washed.

And Sawyer also did his best to ignore that he was feeling tired and unwell himself.

_It's just because I'm racing around and haven't slept properly. Pressure and strain and so on. Doesn't mean for sure that I'm getting the fever. Can't afford to, anyway. So be gone!_

At that he gave himself a wry chuckle. _I sound like back when I was a kid, thinking I could get rid of warts and witches and find lost marbles, all with the right incantations. _

_If this ends up being the last thing I do, then at least it is a good thing._

xXx

When anyone came down with the sickness, Tom immediately sent them to bed. With no spoonful of medicine to hopefully keep their body temperature from rising further, it was best that they stayed as quiet and rested as possible. Even those who had the spoonful still suffered unpleasantly.

He couldn't bring himself to check his own body for the rash. Not yet.

Besides, his time was full with either doing or overseeing tasks. He and the other helpers were busy changing sweat-soaked sheets, making sure the patients were taking in plenty of water, comforting them and applying cold compresses, dealing with laundry . . . .

Sawyer checked on Hanrahan, who was alert enough still to allow for some talk about what was happening and what had to be done. The American explained what was going on and Hanrahan made a few suggestions. Then Tom gave him some water and stood up to head back into the fray, only to have the doctor halt him. Their discussion, brief as it was, had worn the doctor out, but now he seemed to be straining to say something else.

"It's all right. Just rest," Tom told him.

"You really are . . . an extraordinary young man," Hanrahan managed to say.

It was good to hear. "Thank you."

xXx

There was no doubt about it anymore. It wasn't just exhaustion – Tom knew he had the fever.

Fear gripped him, with the knowledge that there was no medicine, but soon a kind of grim resolution overtook it. Yes, there was no medicine – his own fate was out of his hands, so there was no use worrying about it.

He pressed on with his duties. It wasn't like he would be running a risk of infecting the patients, and there weren't many unaffected people left to look after the rest. The other helpers tried to put him to bed, but he refused. _There are still things I can do._

So of course he got worse faster as a result, compounded by the exhaustion and strain already on his shoulders. Still, he staggered on, with no sign of any cavalry on the horizon.

One small ray of hope was that not too many more people had become sick after the medicine ran out. _Probably because most of the people around here already have it, or have left, or have kept themselves isolated, like Jacob. Perhaps he's – how did the doctor put it - immune or has had it before. Or his system has been able to fight it off for longer._

The people who had not had the medicine were put in a separate room – someone's bedroom from the look of it. Fortunately there was still a good supply of cots to use, thanks to the unaffected workers bringing their own beds and bedding from the outbuildings for the sick to use.

Tom forced himself to go out to the pump to get more water, pulling the buckets along behind him in an old toy wagon he was now putting to good, practical use. He just hoped he would be able to get back without trouble. _Perhaps if I just fill the buckets up half full each time, that will be easier. _A number of trips would need to be made anyway.

His skin was so hot and sore, like he'd been exposed to the sun for hours. His muscles felt extremely painful, which made ordinary movement torturous, let alone dragging the increasingly heavy wagon along. Walking was now more made up of staggering and stumbling, and it was hard to lift his feet up enough to clear stones and uneven ground. Then there was the thirst and dryness in his throat that Sawyer tried to appease with some water.

While at the pump at the side of the house, he managed to see that more supplies had been left outside the gate by the villagers. _I'll get them in after the water._ He nearly laughed, but that would have taken up too much energy. _I'm not sure if my next step will be my last, but at least I've got a full schedule to keep me occupied!_

He was so focused and sick that he did not see Jacob's servant, Dale, watching him. Then when Tom managed to get back into the house on his first water trip, Dale's jaw set and he walked off determinedly.

Jacob came out onto the porch of his outbuilding and saw Dale heading away. He called out, demanding to know where he was going.

"To the village. I am going to get some of them, and then go help the American – he is sick and needs us."

"No, you are not! I forbid it! Did you go near him? I told you not to – we can't catch that fever!"

Dale ignored him, a determined look on his face, and kept going. He admired Tom and his spirit too much to let him keep shouldering such a burden.

Jacob watched him go with a mix of emotions. There was disbelief and anger at actually being disobeyed, but also fear and worry. It was like everything he knew was falling apart around him.

Eventually he saw Tom head for the pump again. Dale was right – the American was clearly sick, and it served him right.

But then something started to prick at Jacob's conscience. It certainly had to make an effort to do so, but kept working. Just like Sawyer. Barrington's nephew was amazed he was still on his feet.

_He's an idiotic American, but . . . he **is** one of us._

Though would that be enough to sway Jacob?

xXx

Tom had lost count of how many trips this made from the well - _three, four? _- but thought one more would do, then he would start moving the supplies. Drawing on as much inner strength as he could muster, he was doggedly doing his best to pull the wagon back towards the kitchen when suddenly one of the natives appeared next to him. The spy nearly jumped out of his skin in fright, then recognised the man as Jacob's servant. What was he doing here?

"I will take the wagon for you, Tom," Dale said, taking the handle off the amazed and dazed American. "And the others are here to help too."

_Others?_

Tom turned around unsteadily to see about seven natives smiling at him. _Unless I'm starting to see double or triple._

"These are people from the village. They are grateful to you for taking care of the sick they have sent you. They want to help. They will bring the supplies in."

"Thank you."

Then Jacob of all people stepped out from behind the group of natives. He eyed Tom. "And from the state you're in, it looks like I'll be carrying _you_ inside!"

Sawyer was astonished and he could see that Dale and the others were too. _They didn't know he was coming. Is Jacob just helping to save face or he feels guilty or is it just because I'm white?_ Then he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, for now. Besides, trying to think was making him dizzy.

Actually, everything was now making him dizzy.

"Here." Jacob went to pull Tom over his shoulder, but the American refused.

"Just give me a hand instead. If I get off my feet, I'm afraid I won't be able to get back on them."

Jacob shook his head. "You're going to have to get off your feet. Do you see how sick you are? Tell us what the situation is and what has to be done, and then we're putting you to bed, where you will stay."

Tom hesitated, still unsure whether the offer was genuine, which led Jacob to tell him with an edge to his voice, "Sawyer, I swear to you that I won't run. I'm no coward - I'll see this through. This is my home. Do you think you're the only brave one around here?"

"No. I know I'm not," Tom said, looking right at Dale for a moment.

"Then stop being an idiot and shut up and come on. Besides, I need to make sure there's some workforce left alive for when Uncle comes back." Jacob pulled one of Tom's arms around his shoulders and started to support him towards the house, not exactly in the most gentle of manners, but the help was appreciated nonetheless.

Even though the knowledge that there was no more medicine made Tom's new volunteers nervous, they remain steadfast enough to help. After all, Tom had set quite the example and they believed that surely help must be coming down the track at any moment.

Sawyer dearly hoped there was. After all, this was day three.

He did his best to explain to Jacob and Dale what had to be done. Other of the still-active helpers would fill in what he missed.

They took the American into the room allocated to those who had been given no medicine. There were still a few makeshift beds free in there, already prepared for the inevitable influx of more victims.

Even though Tom's body desperately wanted to rest and his mind was half off its axis, the other half of him wanted to resist being put to bed at all costs. It felt like laying down and surrendering, of letting the fever catch up with and consume him.

All totally against the very nature of Special Agent Thomas Sawyer. But his next thought went against the optimistic part of him, even though it was very human.

_Is this going to be my deathbed?_ he could not help thinking with a shudder, as they approached his designated cot.

Dale felt the resistance and hesitation. "You have done all you can for us; now you must do all you can for yourself. Rest."

_No. Fight!_

xXx

For a time as Tom lay there, he struggled valiantly, then succumbed.

Into waves of fire and eternal torment.

At one point he thought he was back at fourteen, at the mercy of late-onset measles. He'd nearly died, especially after suffering a relapse. Then he was back in the fever he developed after being shot trying to 'help' Jim escape.

Why was it so hot? Was he back in Africa again, flying over the Sahara in the balloon? He tried to open his eyes so that if he was, he could operate the controls and send the balloon back up higher, into cooler weather.

Briefly he grasped hold of some clarity. He _was_ in Africa, but not the Sahara or Egypt. The plantation.

What was he doing lying down? He couldn't afford to lie down!

Weakly, he struggled, attempting to sit up.

"Lay still!" someone said.

"Water . . . ."

"I'll get it for you. Here."

He shook his head in frustration. "No! Got to go get water . . . . The pump."

"No you don't. You don't need to anymore. You just have to rest."

Rest? How could he rest? He was burning! It was like he was a bonfire.

xXx

He could hear a voice coming from somewhere, a very familiar voice . . . . "This is not how it ends for you. It's not your fate."

_Quatermain?_ Tom so much wanted to open his eyes, but couldn't. The fever had no interest in letting him do that. It just wanted him to suffer and die. The voice was still speaking, and he struggled to hear and see without success. Blackness came.

But a tiny spark of hope remained and tried to grow, to sustain him, even as his body boiled.

xXx

He was still in Hell, wrapped in fire, with little reprieve in sight.

Apart from the times where he could feel a degree of coldness. Someone was trying to beat back the fire in him. It had happened before, several times at least, but not to this degree. Or perhaps he hadn't been as aware during those times. But the coldness seemed so weak and puny next to the raging heat, like flicking a drop of water off your finger into a fire.

Then the voice came again, very emotional.

"I'm so proud of you, son."

This time Tom managed to open his eyes and saw one very worried but very familiar-looking adventurer watching him.

"Quatermain?" His voice was faint but the degree of hope was huge.

"It's me. I'm here. Everything is going to be fine."

Somehow there was a sliver of rational thought left in Tom to think: _I must be dreaming, hallucinating. Or it's his ghost._

The hunter reached out and Tom felt a hand on his forehead.

_Hallucinations can feel real. Or I'm so close to dying that I can feel ghosts myself._

Allan's spirit visiting him when he was on death's door made sense to the spy, even in this extremely ill state. It gave him the chance to apologise and be with him again, however brief.

"I'm sorry . . . ." he began to say.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm so proud of you. You just rest and get better, Tom. I'm right here."

He stared at his mentor, at the feelings in his face. The American could tell there truly was no blame within for what happened at the fortress, and in that moment, he forgave himself fully at last. A weight lifted off him, but unfortunately did not take the heat with it.

But that was all right. He knew that Allan's spirit would watch over him. Between them, he just might beat this thing. If not, then he would get to see the hunter again in the hereafter. Tom smiled, then reluctantly sank once more.

END PART FIVE


	6. Chapter 6

**Ingra **– Thank you! Tom will know how extraordinary he is. If he survives the fever, of course! As for when we get to hear from the League, I have it on good authority that we're going to get to hear from at least a few of them in this chapter.

**Sawyer Fan **– Thanks for keeping on trying with the review, and I knew you'd like the guest appearance in the last chapter. Looking forward to more of "Crucible" and "Sequel"!

"Rubicon 2 – Africa" Chapter 6

by Ten Mara

Rating: T

CATEGORY: Story, Drama/Angst, Supernatural aspects, hints of potential Tom/Mina

DISCLAIMER: The literary characters referred to are copyright their respective authors, and "LXG: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" is copyright 20th Century Fox, based on the comic books by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill. The characters and movie universe are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. Characters not recognised are mine. This chapter has quotes from "King Solomon's Mines" by H Rider Haggard.

xXx

Through the haze of fever, Tom felt the coolness coming again, trying to help him. And on occasions, he was aware that he was being given water to drink.

Then when he became alert enough to actually open his eyes again, he was still afire, but happy to see his mentor at his bedside.

His fever-addled mind made Sawyer determined not to say anything so direct or confronting to Allan as: "You're dead." or "You're a ghost." It felt impolite and, even worse, he feared that in saying anything like that, he would break whatever tenuous connection there was between the worlds and Allan would disappear.

Even if Quatermain did turn out to be only a dream instead of a ghost, Tom wanted and needed this comfort, so would do all he could to keep it.

He did get as close to the subject as he dared by managing to say, "Thank you."

He could see the hunter understood; of course he would. "That's fine, son. You return the favour by hanging in there and getting better, you hear?"

Tom nodded, struggling to keep his eyes open, but failing. "Wish I was your son . . . ."

"As far as I'm concerned, you are."

The American could hear the emotion in the hunter's voice and felt a hand clasping his own. He was full of emotion too at Allan's words.

"I got M."

"I know you did. Now the next thing you have to do is beat this fever. Try not to talk. You have to save your strength."

Sawyer managed to nod, then shifted his aching body as best he could, trying to find a cooler part of the bed to settle on if possible. Quatermain knew. Whatever dimension he was in, whatever spectral form he was in, at least he knew what was in Tom's heart, and that was all the sick American cared about. As sleep took him, he was determined to follow his mentor's instructions and beat the fever.

xXx

He didn't know how long after that it was when a different and very persistent voice managed to reach him.

"Tom? Tom, it's Henry Jekyll. I've got the medicine. I need you to drink this."

Henry? He knew that name, that voice. And medicine . . . medicine was important. His head was being raised. Obediently the spy swallowed when a glass was put to his lips, liquid entering his mouth. He drank and drank and then tried to stop, but the voice came again. "Tom, you have to drink all of it. There's not much more. Please." He reluctantly obeyed, feeling like he was swallowing an ocean, then finally it was done.

He slid back into the fog.

Henry put down the empty glass, relieved that Tom had been able to drink the entire contents, but deeply concerned nonetheless. He watched with a mix of emotions as Allan Quatermain gently lowered the American's head back onto the pillow and ran a hand through the blonde hair. It was still hard for Jekyll to believe that the hunter was alive again, even after being informed of the fact when arriving back in Nairobi. However there were more pressing concerns.

"Now we wait," Henry said quietly. "Keep trying to get that fever down, Allan. I'll check on him again soon." The hunter looked up at him, with a suddenly piercing gaze that even gave Hyde pause, as the doctor went to move away. "Excuse me, the other patients –"

Before Henry could get very far from the bed, Allan literally collared him and pulled him into a corner where he could still keep an eye on Tom, but not be overheard.

"Out with it," he demanded. "The truth."

Henry took a deep breath. "I'm worried that the medicine won't do him any good - the damage might already have been done. How long has he had that high temperature?"

"I'm not sure, but he was like that when I got here. Dale might have an idea," Allan said. "I've been trying to get it down."

"A temperature that high could kill him. Or it could do things like make him blind, deaf or an invalid for the rest of his life – even brain damaged to the point of idiocy."

"We can't know that for sure," Allan protested in growing horror and denial.

"No, but it is a strong possibility. The fever is making his body extremely weak and may have already caused harm that we won't know about until he wakes up properly. His system could just give up under the strain. We're going to have to do our best to get that fever down, and wait and pray."

After delivering that news in an effort to prepare the adventurer for the worst, the doctor tried to show the silver lining. "But remember, I've certainly seen some miracles lately, yourself included, so we cannot give up. Tom does have some advantages over most of the other people here: youth, strength and the fact that he wasn't under-nourished to begin with."

Then Henry had to reluctantly leave his two teammates so he could aid the other afflicted people. The first priority for him was to work out who else in this room was to get medicine and how much. He also needed to find out if any of the children were gravely ill too. The rest of the League was on their way to the plantation with the supplies to make more of the cure. If all went well they should be able to have more manufactured before the time limit ran out for those who had had the spoonful. Jekyll had come on ahead of the others on horseback with some of the medicine.

Allan numbly resumed his place at the agent's side. He had been brought back from the dead – why? To watch this young man take his place in the grave instead of in the world? He had woken into a nightmare.

His son's death, for all of its horror, had at least been mercifully quick. The same with his first wife. But Harry's mother, Stella, had died slowly before Allan's helpless gaze, and the same could well be happening here.

If only they could give Tom an ice bath! However ice was an impossible commodity at this plantation. But the hunter did the best he could, bathing the young man's face and body, talking to him, trying to will him back in words and prayers.

Then he held Tom's hand in both of his own, and his mind went back to his own resurrection.

xXx

There had been flashes of consciousness – of responding when a cup was put to his lips, or a spoon, of swallowing water and soft foods, but no true awareness until now.

Then Allan Quatermain realized that he was alive. Either that, or heaven was a stone hut occupied by a Masai woman he had known back in Kenya. Allan blinked, staring around. The last clear thing he could remember was being in M's fortress tower, the pain of the knife fading along with his life, and Tom Sawyer's distraught face staring down at him.

And he well remembered the sense of relief, that Tom was all right.

But was he still? Had he gotten out of the fortress?

_And did I really die?_

This had to be Africa. The light was unmistakable. _How did I get here?_

The Masai woman had not yet noticed that he was awake. Allan felt very weak and could not do anything to attract her attention, so he waited and tried to look around for clues as to what had happened. He was clearly back in Kenya, but how had he gotten here and were the other members of the League still around?

There was a gleam of silver, an object in a sunbeam that came from a window. It was a rifle, leaning against the wall.

Tom's Winchester.

_A good thing or a bad thing? He must be around here somewhere. I have to see him!_

Then the woman looked up from her food preparation and smiled.

"Hello, Macumazahn," the woman greeted him in her native dialect. That was his Kafir nickname, which meant, as he had once explained it: 'He who keeps a bright look-out at night, or, in vulgar English, a sharp fellow who is not to be taken in'.

The woman gave him some water. His voice was rusty, but he managed to reply. "Hello, Anai. How did I get here?"

"Senei brought you back to life from your grave." He was the local witch doctor. "It took him two attempts before everything was right and there was success. It was not an easy thing, so he needs much recovery time."

Allan mentally congratulated himself on saving that particular village. _So I really did die and was buried,_ he realised.The thought made him shudder, but then he resumed his focus.

"Anai, where is Tom Sawyer?" She looked at him blankly. "The owner of that gun." He pointed with his chin.

She named one of the warriors of her people. "Tukek said it was left on your grave by a young man with gold hair."

Allan let out a huge sigh of relief. _He's alive! Thank God!_ But he had deliberately left his prized gun behind . . . .

It quickly became clear that Anai did not know the members of the League individually – she had been here in the village and only heard of their stay in Nairobi from the warriors of her tribe, who had carried the witch doctor and Allan back here to recuperate. The only further information she could give him was that the League was no longer in Nairobi; they had left an hour or so before the resurrection was successful, but she did not know where they had gone.

Now about six days had passed since the funeral, and Allan had been in a sort of waking coma during that time, able to consume nourishment and regain strength, but not come fully back to himself until now.

_The League could be anywhere,_ Allan thought with frustration. He had to let them know – especially Tom – that he was all right, and to find out if they were all right. And to regroup with them. Hopefully M's plans had been completely foiled.

Fortunately he could feel his strength returning with amazing speed over every passing minute.

"Anai, I thank you and the witch doctor for all of your care, but I need to get back to Nairobi as soon as possible. I will return to personally thank Senei as soon as I can."

While arrangements were quickly being made, Allan was able to examine the Winchester at last. To his alarm he could see that it had been damaged. _Looks like knife marks!_

When dressing he found that his shoulder wounds were gone entirely: both the fatal blow inflicted in the fortress and the one when M had thrown a blade at him in the cemetery in Venice. The latter would have been much worse at the time, if not for a pocket copy of _The Ingoldsby Legends_ in his shirt. The book had prevented the stiletto from penetrating very far.

The hunter discovered he could walk – a bit stiffly, but nothing to complain about, however the warriors insisted on making up a sort of sedan chair and racing him along in that. It felt a bit pretentious, but Masai warriors were incredibly speedy and it would save his strength, so Allan capitulated. And he made sure that Sawyer's rifle came with him.

By the end of the journey he felt much restored. _Like my old self._

_What – my old self before or after meeting Tom?_

In Nairobi he was met by one of his old hunter friends who hadn't been in the Britannia Club at the time of the shootout, Melville, and Bruce the bartender, who had fortunately gotten out in time.

"Quatermain!" Melville boomed in delight. "When I saw your grave dug up and you being stretchered off by those natives, I went after them with my gun, thinking there was some body-snatching afoot. But then they showed me that you were breathing and told me what the witch doctor had done. He was out cold on another stretcher. I thought best if they took care of you, since Doctor Ben had gone off, and we popped in occasionally to keep an eye on you. After all, I don't know much about looking after someone just raised from the dead!"

After the Masai warriors had been thanked and left, Melville and Bruce escorted Allan into Melville's house.

Quatermain accepted a drink, then got right to the point. "I understand that the group I had joined up with – the League – came here to bury me?"

"Yes. What an amazing group of people! They'll be the talk of the town for ages."

"Do you know where they went? Where they were headed?"

"The League went to stay with Bennett and to travel with him, apart from the young man who went off with Doctor Ben on his rounds." Allan opened his mouth to ask a question, but Melville kept on, oblivious. "Most unfortunate that – that they ended up at the Barrington plantation just when an outbreak of Black Darrow fever had struck. Very bad."

Allan felt like he had been stabbed all over again. _Young man. Oh God. No, wait a minute – what would Tom be doing out there with the doctor? It is more likely that Jekyll went with Hanrahan, to give his own expertise and aid where needed, and to learn about the medicines and treatments here._ That was sound reasoning, though he felt sorry enough if Henry Jekyll was in such a dire situation. Allan's voice almost wavered when he asked, "Which young man was that?"

"Sawyer."

It was a miracle that the glass in Allan's hand did not shatter as he clenched it. He closed his eyes in pain.

"We managed to get word to the rest of the League and they are coming as fast as they can with the goods to distill the cure. They're coming through some time today and will then head for the plantation. I say, Quatermain, are you all right?"

"Get me a horse," Allan said firmly, standing and almost tossing his drink onto the table.

"But the League will be here –"

"_Get me a bloody horse now!"_ Allan bellowed, fire in his eyes and voice, and Bruce, who had remained quiet all through the talk, nodded and raced out the door. He knew there was no arguing with the great white hunter when he was in this mood.

Allan for his turn knew he could not bear sitting around and waiting for the League to show up. He turned back to the stunned Melville. "Do we have any of the medicine here?"

"We sent what we had off with riders as soon as we knew of the outbreak. There has been no word since. There have been no victims of the fever here yet, but the League is going to give us some of the leaves to make more medicine with when they come through." Melville's mind was racing at Allan's reaction. He recalled how young Sawyer had stood alone at the grave for a while. Was the boy Quatermain's son via one of his lovers? An offspring that he had only recently found out about or kept quiet from the other explorers for years? Whatever the scenario, it did not take a hunter to know that the stakes were high and speed imperative. He quickly gauged the situation, wanting to help his friend as much as possible.

Quatermain was relieved when Melville became all focus and business, talking about getting him provisions right away and about where he planned to change horses. "Thank you. Why . . . why did Sawyer go with the doctor and not with the rest of the League?" _Had he quit them? Or did the American Secret Service have some agenda?_

"From what I could gather, it was because Doctor Hanrahan had known you better than Bennett, and the young man wanted to learn more about you."

Allan put a hand to his face, the same feeling going through him as when he had seen Tom reflected in the Fantom's mask with a knife at his throat.

This could not be happening . . . . But it was.

xXx

Allan rode hard for the Barrington plantation, carrying some supplies and Tom's gun, as well as other weapons. Along the way he discovered that the riders who were sent with medicine from Nairobi had been ambushed by the Barringtons, and the medicine stolen. The injured riders were being cared for by natives who had found them, and were in no condition to ride to the plantation, empty-handed, or back to Nairobi yet. The natives were not sure where the Barringtons were now.

The hunter changed horses when needed with as much economy of time as could be managed. Nightfall did not stop him, moonlight aiding his haste along the road. There had been other times in his life where frantic riding had been necessary: once to save Sir Henry's wife from an assassination attempt, another to save Marie, the girl who was to become his own first wife, from a planned attack. Just like with those times, Allan tried very much not to think, not liking where his fears were taking him.

Finally as he neared the plantation he saw that fires had been lit in braziers at strategic points like near the gates, to guide the way.

When Allan galloped in through the open gates, heading for the house, a young man appeared on the front verandah, holding a lantern. For a moment the head of blonde hair gave Quatermain hope, until he recognised it belonged to Jacob Barrington. Dale quickly joined him.

Both young men were gaping at the sight before them as they came out the verandah door. "You are alive?" Dale managed say through his shock, then he smiled. "The witch doctor has brought you back! And you have brought us the medicine!"

"Medicine enough for everyone is on its way. Where is Tom Sawyer?" Allan looked around hopefully as he dismounted. Surely Tom was just inside the house and would come racing out at any moment. Unless he was at one of the windows, stunned by the impossible-seeming sight before him.

Dale's next words shattered those hopes. "He is very sick."

_No._ Surely fate would not be that cruel. _But he's not dead,_ Allan tried to reassure himself.

Allan gave the horse's reins to Jacob, who was nearest, then the hunter removed his saddlebags and weapons. Carrying them, he took a deep breath and said to Dale, "Take me to him."

Dale looked at Jacob, as if asking which one of them should escort Allan. Barrington's nephew indicated that Dale was to go ahead. The native worker led Allan into the house. It had certainly changed since the hunter had last been there, though he never really liked going there – he had not approved of their treatment of the locals. Now those people were everywhere, the rich furniture converted into their beds, fever-stricken faces wherever he looked. A small but dedicated band of villagers were doing their best at being nursemaids, trying to be in ten places at once.

"The worst are in this room over here – the ones who have not had any of the medicine at all." Dale was leading him there.

_Tom hasn't had **any**_ _of the medicine?_ "And Doctor Ben?" the hunter asked.

Dale pointed across the other side of the room from where they were going. "He fell sick when there was still medicine left. He has had a spoonful."

"How bad is Tom?"

"The worst."

Before that news could fully hit Allan, they entered the sickroom. Beds, ranging from real to completely makeshift, were arranged in the room, most of them heavily draped with mosquito netting. The others were empty. Allan picked his protégé out immediately and was torn between wanting to race forward to his side or race back out the door. This was not the reunion he had been hoping for.

His feet felt leaden as he approached the prone American and got his first proper look. He wished he'd never had to see it. Tom's eyes were closed, and his breathing was shallow and hoarse. The mosquito netting separating them gave the scene almost an ethereal quality, like it was a dream, or nightmare. But even through its veil in the light of the lamps, Allan could see that Tom was extremely ill.

Swallowing, the hunter put down what he was carrying, then parted the netting, entering the nightmare.

_No! It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. What sort of twisted cosmic justice is this? I gave my life for him willingly. How does it come to pass that I am alive again and he is the one dying? _

_Or is this the way destiny wanted it?_ Allan found himself wondering._ Me alive and Tom dead? Was destiny or fate cheated when I saved his life – meaning I was able to be revived and this happened to Tom?_

He shook himself out of those thoughts, then glanced around and saw a glass and a pitcher of water on a side table right next to the young man's bed. There was also a bowl, rags for bathing him and to make compresses with, and a hand fan for cooling and keeping away the insects.

"Dale, please bring me a chair if you can find one spare. I will stay with him." Allan's ample experience with tending to feverish people over the decades would hopefully see them both in good stead now.

Dale simply turned around and grabbed a wooden chair next to him, then passed it over. "I'll get you a glass – you must be thirsty. Are you hungry too?"

Thirst and hunger were the last things the adventurer was feeling, an all encompassing sick fear taking over. But he made himself respond to the courtesy he was being shown. "No thank you. I have a canteen and food in my bags here."

Allan busied himself with quickly positioning the chair as best he could, trying to get it and himself under the netting as much as possible, so he could easily tend to Tom. Despite his efforts, he was limited by the size of the netting, and there ended up being a sizeable gap left where mosquitoes could get through. But Allan Quatermain would hardly allow even one to get within a yard of the American if the creatures did try to land on him. And he had to be able to reach out and access the contents of the table.

Allan sank down into the chair, his legs more weak from the shock of seeing the spy like this than from the ride or his own recent 'death'. There was no trace of the healthy, exuberant young man who had completely gotten under his guard.

The American had not stirred, and even when Allan hesitantly said, "Tom?" there was no reaction. The adventurer reached out and touched his cheek, wincing at the heat he encountered. But he rested his hand there and said emotionally, "This is not how it ends for you. It's not your fate. I'm ready to live again, really live. I'm also ready to be a father again. And you're the only teacher and son I'll accept. Hold on – the rest of the League is coming."

Tom gave a faint murmur and shifted against his hand, eyes closed, before becoming quiet again.

Allan immediately folded up a rag, wet it, and set about bathing the flushed face.

The adventurer himself had caught this fever a number of years previously and from what the doctors had said, should now be immune. From the times that Allan had encountered the fever in the past or heard about it, the sickness seemed to affect both Caucasians and Africans with equal severity, and with white people it seemed to make no difference whether they had lived in Africa a long time, or only been there a short while, as in Tom's case. But how had Tom ended up the worst of everyone around here? Perhaps he was sick beforehand and therefore more susceptible.

The next time Dale came by, Allan took the opportunity to ask him. Even though the reply was relatively brief due to the other demands on Dale's time, Allan's existing view of the agent as special increased tenfold. He was a true leader of men and had put everyone else's welfare before his own. Now he was selflessly paying the price.

"I'm so proud of you, son."

Tom's eyes opened. Burning, like everything else about him, they somehow managed to focus on the hunter. "Quatermain?" he whispered uncertainly, hopefully.

"It's me. I'm here. Everything is going to be fine," Allan said, thrilled that Sawyer was showing some awareness. He put his hand on Tom's forehead and the spy looked up at him hard, as if trying to work out whether he was really there.

"I'm sorry . . . ."

"There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm so proud of you. You just rest and get better, Tom. I'm right here."

A brilliant smile touched the American's face, then illness and stupor claimed it again.

_He's got a new century that he's supposed to set ablaze. But not like this._

Tom was so hot it was a wonder that flames were not bursting out on his skin. Allan did his best to try to bring the temperature down, but to no avail.

The explorer had encountered terrible heat in his lifetime, including the deadly desert on the way to his King Solomon's Mines adventure.

It was like all the heat and fire of those experiences combined were emanating from Tom's body.

_I died for you. Now you have to live for me._

xXx

It was painful to see dwindling recognition and dwindling life in those eyes. Instead of the mischievous twinkle or zest for life, there was only the blaze of fever.

In those night hours, Allan's thoughts raced. He had tried to not make any comparisons between Tom and Harry, either on the mission or now. He had originally written the story of his adventures in trying to find King Solomon's mines mainly to amuse his son and keep him out of mischief for a week or so while he was studying to be a doctor in England.

He remembered Tom telling some of his own adventure tales. Allan had been impressed at how the young man had not exaggerated or bragged. The hunter did not think it witty to tell lies or boast – enough strange things happened to hunters anyway.

Allan recalled how he had told Sir Henry and Captain Good that he had thought their quest for King Solomon's Mines would end in their deaths, but he was going with them anyway, because:

_I am a fatalist, and believe that my time is appointed to come quite independently of my own movements, and that if I am to go to Suliman's Mountains to be killed, I shall go there and shall be killed there. God Almighty, no doubt, knows His mind about me, so I need not trouble on that point. _

That had been one of his reasons anyway. That fatalism outlook had been somewhat shaken several years later by Harry's death, as much as he tried to reconcile with it and God's will.

Also, for forty years he had hunted and traded, only managing to make a living. The average life of an elephant hunter in the field once he took to that occupation was four to five years. So he had felt his time could not be far off when he undertook the Mines quest.

_Instead I survived. Survived that, came back a rich man. Then within three years I lost my son. I went on that other trip with Good and Sir Henry, this time to Zu Vendis, sure it would be the end of me. Should have been, due to that blow I got in the battle. But I survived. _Disillusioned, he had left his friends and returned to Nairobi to while away his remaining years at the Britannia Club, disinterested in living. He had even written a book of his adventures in Zu Vendis that said he died at the end, hoping to bring himself respite from the story seekers. It hadn't worked. Then a few years later, M's henchmen had come calling.

The hunter looked down at Tom. _Is this why I survived, why God wasn't finished with me on this earth?_

Allan was not a first rate praying man – few hunters were, but there were times in his life when he rose to the occasion in that regard. Like when his party ran out of water on their way across the desert towards the mines. Then when they were trapped in the mines and nearly starved to death. _And just like when I was trapped in that mountain, there's little I can do._ He looked down at Tom with frustration. That fact was one of the worst things about the situation.

With Harry, there was barely time to say his name and try to staunch his wound before he was gone, let alone start appealing to God.

But now, hopefully there was time, and Allan prayed.

xXx

"Riders! Riders!" Allan's head jerked up at the cry. Surely this had to be some help!

Torn between reluctance to leave Tom's side and a desperate desire to find out, he hesitated, then decided. He gently touched Tom's shoulder. "I won't be a minute, son. _Don't _go anywhere."

He hurried out onto the verandah where Dale was already standing with a lantern, as three riders halted before them in the night. Allan quickly saw that the riders were a white man and a black man, both from Nairobi, and Doctor Jekyll.

Henry, for his part, nearly fell off his horse at the sight before him.

"Oh dear God," he said faintly.

Even though the League had been told in Nairobi that Quatermain was alive again . . . actually seeing living proof was another matter entirely. _Though we were also told that as soon as he heard Tom was at the affected plantation, he raced off over there - That should have been all the proof we needed._

Allan barreled out of the verandah, nearly knocking the screen door off its hinges in the process. "Did you bring the medicine?" he demanded.

"I – um, yes. Some," came the stammered response as Henry tried to dismount as quickly but safely as possible from the horse, knowing that he had to pull himself together to help everyone. And because Quatermain looked ready to haul him clean out of the saddle otherwise.

"Yes, I'm bloody alive. Get over it! Tom's the worst – there isn't a moment to lose! Come on."

Henry got down his saddlebags and hastily moved to follow Allan into the house, leaving his guides to take care of the horses. Was Tom really the worst, or were the hunter's feelings getting in the way? True or not, Henry's heart sank at hearing that the American had been struck down.He had been braced for the possibility – no, even more than that, the strong likelihood of it - but still . . . .

He answered Quatermain's questions on the move, including about how much medicine he had with him.

"And where are the others?" Allan demanded.

"Nemo, Skinner and Mina are coming as fast as they can in a wagon, with the supplies and equipment needed to make more of the medicine. Once that is set up and running, they will be able to produce enough for a small town." Henry looked around at the patients as he followed Allan, then asked how many of the people had not had a spoonful.

Allan told him, then nodded to the door they were approaching. "They're isolated in this room here."

Once in the room Henry was quickly able to see that Allan was not exaggerating. Tom's temperature was by far the worst of anyone's, and his condition even made Hyde refrain from nasty comments or malicious glee. He probably could not think up anything worse to top what the American was already enduring.

Once he had quickly examined the others in the room, the doctor turned Allan, whose eyes remained fixed on the spy. "Is he still able to swallow?"

"I can still rouse him enough to drink, fortunately. Get a cupful ready. The sooner we get it into him the better."

_We may well already be too late,_ Henry thought sorrowfully.

_You're going to waste an entire cupful of medicine, you weakling! _Hyde commented. _He's done for. _

_Shut up!_

Henry tried to keep up an encouraging facade for both parties as he and Allan managed to get the medicine into Tom, but when the American lapsed back into his stupor, Quatermain buttonholed the doctor and demanded the truth.

Jekyll told him. And wished he could take it back when he saw the weight fall onto Allan's shoulders, the strain it placed on him. But those were the facts. It was now up to Tom to overcome the odds.

xXx

Now that it was daylight again, the netting had been pulled back from around Tom's bed.

This was the fourth day since Tom and Hanrahan had discovered the outbreak. Time was running out.

Allan looked up, broken out of his memories, and saw two of the natives attempting to maneuver a wingback chair through the doorway as quietly as possible. Somehow they managed the feat, then huffed and puffed their burden over to the hunter. "You will be more comfortable in this." They knew he was going to stay day and night by Tom's side.

The wide side-wings at the top of the chair would be invaluable, allowing Allan to sleep as well as possible under the circumstances without hurting his back and neck overmuch. Not that he would have dwelled on that discomfort – his worries were firmly taken up with the feverish young man in front of him. Nothing else mattered. Allan only automatically consumed food and drink himself, not to satisfy any bodily demands, but to keep himself going.

He swore that Tom was going to live, and he was going to be there to greet him when he came out the other side.

END PART SIX


	7. Chapter 7

**Sawyer Fan **– This chapter is for you. Thank you so much for your support and everything.

"Rubicon 2 – Africa" Chapter 7

by Ten Mara

Rating: T

CATEGORY: Story, Drama/Angst, Supernatural aspects, hints of potential Tom/Mina

DISCLAIMER: The literary characters referred to are copyright their respective authors, and "LXG: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" is copyright 20th Century Fox, based on the comic books by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill. The characters and movie universe are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. Characters not recognised are mine. This chapter has quotes from "Allan's Wife" by H Rider Haggard.

xXx

Tom dreamed.

Of plunging face first into a bottomless crevice, only for Hyde to grab him by his dangling braces and haul him up.

Of firing his pistols desperately at the armoured giant in the fortress, only to have one of the bullets ricochet and hit him.

xXx

The rest of the League arrived at the plantation, to be greeted by a very worried Henry.

"Is Quatermain really alive? And where is Thomas?" Nemo asked.

Out of the two questions, they got one good answer, and one alarming one.

"Damn, not the kid," Skinner muttered, while Mina went very white and quiet.

The worry the news set off for them was contrasted with the joy of the natives at knowing that help had arrived. The ones who were still well enough to come out to meet the new arrivals were happy that their deliverance had come in the form of the League.

Quickly, the group set about unloading what they had brought in the wagon, and were escorted into the house. There were some reactions at Skinner's appearance, or lack thereof, but overall there were more important things to concentrate on.

"We have a room ready through here for you; for the medicine to be made in."

Mina looked the way that Dale was gesturing, then across at the room where she had been told that Tom was lying. Then she looked around, at all the sick people. She desperately wanted to see Tom. But these people were all counting on her. She had to start making the medicine straight away. And Allan was with him, there was no doubt of that. The young man would be so happy about the hunter being back, if of course he was aware enough to know.

That could even be the deciding factor in what brought Tom himself back from the brink.

Henry saw the conflict on her face. "Nemo, Skinner and I will unpack and start setting up this equipment. While we're doing that, you go see Tom."

"Thank you. I will be just a minute, I promise."

Mina entered the sickroom. She went over to the American's bed and for the first time saw the resurrected Quatermain and the sick Tom. She nearly faltered.

"Mrs Harker," Allan said with the voice of someone who was close to the verge. It was a wonder he even noticed that she was there.

Mina looked down at the unconscious Tom. It was like seeing her husband Jonathan lying in that hospital in Buda-Pesth after escaping from Dracula's clutches.

Where was the bold and fearless young man who had flirted with her, displaying a cockiness that was so good-natured it was hard to be irritated by it, the gatecrasher into the League who had proven himself more extraordinary and courageous than the rest of them? Tom belonged just as much as those who had been 'recruited'.

For a moment Allan pulled himself out of his ministrations and prayers and mired thoughts, belatedly realizing that courtesy meant he should have at least stood when Mina came up. But he doubted very much she had noticed or would care at his slip under these circumstances. He watched Mina watching the spy.

_And to think I told Tom that she was out of his league. But that was beforehand. Before we truly knew him. Before Venice, before the trip to Mongolia._ Before he had heard their little exchange on the conning tower as the repaired Nautilus hurried along as fast as it could manage. Tom had been true Southern Gentleman in his manner and apology, only to be stunned by Mina's seeming change of heart.

Allan also recalled how he himself had told Mina soon after they met how he had buried two wives and many lovers and was in no mood for more of either. _Now that I know her better, I'm amazed she was able to restrain herself from saying something like: "And what makes you think I would be interested, you arrogant presumptuous dried up old relic?"_

The inward spark of wryness quickly died.

Mina and Allan looked at each other then, across the body of the young man who meant so much to them, struggling to find words of reassurance for each other and themselves, but failing.

"I'm . . . I'm about to start working on the medicine," Mina said quietly. "But I just wanted . . . ." _Needed._ She could not finish the sentence.

Allan nodded in understanding, then got up stiffly and moved away from the bedside a little, stretching, giving her a few moments with Tom.

Mina leaned down and whispered in the American's ear, then kissed him on the cheek. She just managed to stifle a gasp at how hot his skin was. Tom barely stirred. With a final touch, the woman rose, nodded quickly to Quatermain, then turned and left, brushing at her eyes.

xXx

Skinner helped the now-outwardly composed Mina bring in the last of the equipment and, with her instructions, helped her set it up and fetch what she needed. Soon the leaves and other ingredients were being prepared.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, love?"

"Not at the moment, thank you."

"Then I'll go see how Tom's doing."

"Rodney –" Mina began, then hesitated. It was the first time she had ever called him that.

The former thief didn't need for her to say anything else. He nodded. "I'll come back soon and tell you, I promise. Will give you regular updates. And Henry might be able to monitor this at some stage for a little, while you have another visit yourself."

"Thank you."

xXx

When Nemo first saw Tom, even his usually controlled face faltered. He would have gladly taken the spy's place. He had lived his life, Tom's had barely begun – though the young man had certainly packed plenty of adventure into his short span on the Earth. Perhaps that was why. Just like with Alexander the Great; so much achieved early, because it was to be a short life.

No. He was not dead yet.

And it was painful to see the broken look on Quatermain's face.

_Kali, please spare Thomas._

"I'm trying to remember any sayings about young tigers," Allan said quietly, referring back to some of their conversations from the mission to save Venice.

"I do know this one. A true fighter." Nemo sat down, then quietly addressed the unresponsive Sawyer. "Thomas, we are here for you. All of us." He talked to him encouragingly some more, before turning to regard Quatermain again. From the look on the hunter's face, he was lost in memories, and not happy ones at that.

Nemo said his name, hoping to distract him from them somewhat. Instead, when Allan looked at him and spoke, the Captain knew it was about those memories. "When I was a young man, I knew a witch doctor called Indaba-zimbi, who said he could see into the future. At one point he told me, 'And so I tell you now to ride north, Macumazahn, for there you will find great happiness - yes, and great sorrow. But no man should run away from happiness because of the sorrow.'"

"And what happened?"

"What Indaba-zimbi prophesized. He and I nearly perished in a desert, along with a young orphaned Boer girl I was looking after. But just in time we were found by a beautiful young woman called Stella, who became my second wife."

He sighed. "Within a year my son was born and Stella died. You know what eventually happened to Harry, but there was also Tota, the little Boer girl. For almost two years she was under my charge, and I felt for her as if she were my daughter. But during that time when I went on my trips to provide a living for the three of us, she and Harry were left in the care of a lady, the wife of an English colonel. The lady and Tota became very attached to each other and when the couple planned to return to England, I let them adopt her. Tota and I kept in contact. She grew up in England, married and had a family, and died before I returned to that soil. In a way, I lost her twice."

When Allan's eyes went back to Tom, Nemo did not have to possess special powers to know what was going through his mind.

"No man should run away from happiness because of the sorrow," the Captain reminded the hunter. "And not everything becomes sorrow."

The adventurer nodded, trying to pull himself out of the mental mire. Tom would not be happy with him for being so defeatist about anything, let alone this, and Allan also belatedly hoped that the American had not heard the conversation. _Should have kept my damn mouth shut! Or talked in private. I can't have him thinking that I've given up on him._ But also in two ways it was understandable he was opening up like this now: his state of mind and that it was Nemo he was talking to. The Captain understood loss of an entire family all too well.

xXx

"Allan?"

The hunter pulled his gaze away from Tom and looked at Skinner. The only thing he could see was the floating hat, and if it were possible for a hat to look anxious, this one was doing exactly that in spades.

_Things must really be getting to me. Or it's a testament to how much Tom means to us all. _He hadn't missed Nemo's reaction either.

Allan stuck out his hand and felt the former thief grasp it.

"Henry told me what you did, Skinner, and what it cost you. I'm glad you've recovered so well. Thank you for saving Tom's life in the fortress." He almost found himself saying 'my son's life'.

"We've got that in common then. The kid means a lot to all of us. Actually, from what I've heard from the people here about what he's done, I should stop calling him that."

The hat turned again to regard Sawyer. The hunter heard Skinner's slow, worried exhale. Tom still had a high temperature – the highest of anyone on the plantation.

"I recovered from the burns a lot quicker than Tom recovered from his guilt over them, even when I insisted it wasn't his fault. I guess that's another thing you and I've got in common too." The invisible man tried to find a cheerier angle. "But I've healed and you're back, so he'll be stoked."

_If he lives._

Allan nodded. Then Skinner said, "Tom told me how you shot the invisible guy who was holding him hostage. At the time, did you think it was me, that I'd lured you all into the fortress to trap you?"

"I was pretty sure it wasn't you. We were aware that the invisibility formula had been replicated and probably used on others."

_If it had been the Queen herself holding Tom hostage, I bet you'd have fired, _Skinner thought.

xXx

Skinner and the others had been giving Mina regular updates, but the news was always the same: their youngest member was still at the mercy of that fever, being drained away by it. The medicine did not appear to be working – as Henry had feared, Tom may have gotten the full dose too late for it to be of help. The doctor doubted he could hold on much longer. Something had to give. Either the fever, or Tom.

Skinner had told her, "And lately he's been babbling a lot. Some of it makes no sense, sometimes he's calling for his friend Huck or for Allan. Then other times it's like he's reciting things – from 'Alice in Wonderland', or about Robin Hood, the Arabian Nights and Walter Scott romances. Just wearing himself out faster, I reckon." He gave a sad, helpless sigh.

"And Allan?"

"Worrying himself into his second grave and ready to bite anyone's head off if they try to get him to leave, even for a few minutes."

Finally, enough medicine had been produced and distributed, and in time to help those who had been given a spoonful on the first day of the outbreak. Enough had also been made to have on hand for others who would become sick.

Then Mina had the chance to visit Tom again, which she did, a priority before getting any rest.

Not that rest would be likely after she got to see the state Tom was in.

As Mina entered the room, Skinner was just leaving, now in his light coat and hat. The hovering hat cocked back towards the relevant bed. "He's onto 'The Declaration of Independence' now," Skinner said to her quietly, as subdued as she had ever heard. She did not have to see his face to know how crestfallen he felt. Then he exited.

Tom was rambling faintly, his words running on and on, his eyes shut. His tongue seemed to be the only part of him still capable of movement.

Allan tried again to gently shush him, but the American was clearly on a different plane.

Mina sat down in the chair that Skinner had just vacated and stared at Tom.

There was a long pause.

Then Allan said to her, "One of the hunters in Nairobi told me that Tom didn't go with the rest of you because he wanted to learn more about me from the doctor."

"That is one reason. When Tom announced that he wasn't joining us, I was worried that he was going off because he wanted to leave us or still felt uncertain about his worth to the League. I asked him in private, and, apart from wanting to learn more about you, he also said he had a feeling that accompanying Doctor Ben was something he was meant to do. That it felt right."

"Some destiny! He wouldn't even be in Africa at the moment if it weren't for me," Allan said bitterly, keeping his eyes on Tom. Then he got himself marginally back under control. "He's saved all these lives. I just need him to save his own now."

"You being here will be a help in that regard."

"I don't know if he realises I'm here or not."

"I'm sure he does. He missed you very much and had a hard time dealing with your death. He blamed himself. We tried to make him see the truth. He thinks of you like a father, you know. He knew you felt the same way."

The adventurer nodded, and he struggled with eyes that were growing moist. "I am _not_ going to lose another son," he vowed, unconsciously echoing Mr Barrington's own words.

Together they kept trying to help Tom win his war against the fever, doing their best to cool him down and get nourishment into him. Soon Tom's voice gave out, but he kept mouthing words, reciting who knew what.

After a while, Allan slept, even if it was reluctantly. But he knew that Mina was there to keep tending and that she would awaken him if there was any change.

As for Mina, she remembered what Tom had said to her on the conning tower of the Nautilus.

_Tomorrow's where I live and breathe._

_Tomorrow he may no longer be breathing,_ she thought, and shuddered. She has always been rather afraid of the future and now there was another reason to be.

No. She could not think like that. "Tom, do you recall how I thought that Americans don't give up easily? At anything? Please prove me right." She would do anything for his youth and sweetness now. "You have so much to come back for." He was young and strong and a fighter. Those were good odds on his side.

Jonathan had survived six weeks of brain fever, coupled with horrifying nightmares of his ordeal in Dracula's castle. Just like Tom, he ended up winning all hearts by his nature and gentleness at the hospital. The recovering natives here in the house and the helpers kept enquiring anxiously about the American, constantly praising him.

There was one possible way of saving Tom. _If I could call it that._ To turn him into a half vampire like herself. But that would entail him drinking some of her blood. And by the time that they would know for sure that Tom wasn't going to pull through, it would be because he had stopped breathing. And by that stage, it would be too late to get him to drink her blood. And how fair would it be on him even if they did manage to get him to consume it anyway? It wasn't like he had been given a choice in the matter. He had not been lying there conscious and coherent enough, able to give his consent or refusal.

Would he _want_ to become like her?

She prayed it would not have to come down to such a decision.

xXx

Somehow Tom knew the end was near. It made him think of the time he, Joe and Huck had listened to their own funeral service in St Petersburg, before walking in on the stunned congregation.

He wondered what would be said about him this time.

Tom saw that he was standing on the banks of a strange river. It was definitely not the Mississippi. _The Styx? There's no boatman to take me to the other side. Is that a good or a bad sign?_

He realized his clothes were wet and his hair too. _I've already crossed this river myself. The Rubicon? That's it? I'm already on the other side._

On this side there was no one in sight, but there was a distinct sense of peace and tranquility. It felt stronger with every step away from the water.

He turned and looked across the river. He could just make out the far shoreline. It was hazy with mist, but there were people standing there. _The League?_ He moved to the water's edge and tried to count the figures, or to see some distinguishing feature to clue him in, but the mist thickened, thwarting him.

_I need to go back. I want to._

_But I'm so tired._ Every step towards the water had increased that feeling._ And it's too late – can't be undone._

_No. Not everything is irreversible, no matter how impossible it seems. I have to try. I crossed it once. I'll find a way back._

Determinedly he strode into the water.

xXx

Henry came in, and Mina moved over so that he had all the room he needed to examine the agent. While he was doing so, Allan woke up and anxiously watched the proceedings. The look on the doctor's face said it all: Tom was still in grave danger.

Allan bowed his head, struggling to control his emotions. Henry looked across at him, and tried to find the optimistic side. "Where there's life, there's hope."

"Where there's Tom, there is hope," Mina immediately amended, and Allan made a noise of agreement.

And within an hour the American proved their faith in him, not so much breaking the fever as in shattering it.

xXx

Tom's fever had broken, but he had not yet regained consciousness.

Henry looked from Tom to Allan, then took a deep breath. "Now, as much as I hate to have to say this, I think it would be for the best if, now that Tom is . . . ." The young doctor trailed off at Allan's hard gaze, knowing that the hunter had worked out what he was about to suggest.

"Do you realize what you're asking me to do?" The older man's voice was nearly a growl. His emotions were rubbed raw and overstretched, and this was the last thing he needed.

"Yes. But we've got to consider Tom's condition," Henry insisted. "He's still extremely weak and we can't afford to unduly disturb him in any way. Seeing you sitting there might be too much of a shock for him."

"But what if he remembers that I was here? Then _not_ seeing me would have just as bad an effect!"

Henry gave him a compassionate look but kept his resolve. "Then we can take it from there. All he has to do is ask. If he does, we can have you at his side in a matter of a minute, if even that. For now you need to stay out of this room, until we know for sure that Tom is going to come through this all right. There is still the danger of pneumonia, which he isn't in any condition to fight off if it does develop. And until he wakes up we can't be sure if the fever did some damage."

Allan reluctantly nodded. He would do anything for Tom, even this if necessary.

xXx

Summarily 'banished', Allan sought out Hanrahan.

The doctor's recent pre-plantation illness had caused him to get a lingering dose of the fever, even though he had been given the tablespoonful of medicine in good time, and even though his condition had been nowhere as severe as the young spy's. So Ben's recovery time in bed was going to be longer than most of the others.

"Sorry I haven't come by sooner, but I've been with Tom," the hunter explained.

"I know; I understand. Still getting used to the fact that you're alive again anyway! And how is he?"

Allan filled him in.

Then the doctor said, "I misjudged Thomas at the start. I should have known that even ordinary people can do extraordinary things, but there's nothing ordinary about him."

Allan nodded with undisguised pride. "Skinner said that optimism should really be named 'Op-tom-isim' after him."

Hanrahan gave an amused groan at the bad pun, then sobered. "So Henry thought it best that you stay away for now?"

"Yes. Tom's still very weak. But he's got a great love for life, so I'm confident he'll hold on and be all right." Allan wouldn't accept anything less. Not wanting to dwell on that topic, he said, "Anyway, how are you and would you like me to get you anything?"

Before Hanrahan needed more rest, he was able to fill Allan in more on the African adventures of Thomas Sawyer.

_I started this trip telling Thomas of stories about Quatermain, and now look how I'm ending it!_

xXx

The American slept for a long time, his body in recovery mode. Meanwhile, Skinner and Nemo both started showing symptoms of the fever and were given a cupful of medicine each right away. That and rest allowed them to recover a lot quicker. However Nemo was on his feet again faster than Skinner, most likely due to it not being all that long since the former thief had been in the infirmary himself.

Jacob also contracted the fever, but like the Captain was not inconvenienced by it for all that long.

xXx

During the time when Nemo and Skinner were in their sickbeds, Tom started to regain consciousness.

Mina was fully alert at the first change in his breathing, the stirring. He was waking up. _But how much of him is still in there?_ His head was angled a little away from her side of the bed, but there was no time to hurry over the other side. Mina leaned in near him.

Slowly his eyes opened.

"Tom?"

His head turned, and those beautiful green eyes were clear, focusing on her with recognition. She gently touched his hair.

Despite his weakness, Tom realized as soon as he opened his eyes where he was, and when he saw the woman at his bedside he knew that help had come, hopefully in time for the stricken.

"Mina," he said happily, or rather mouthed. He had no voice.

There were tears in her eyes, and an expression on her face that he'd never seen before, but was quite willing to live off for years. She looked so beautiful and happy.

"Oh, Tom, thank God. For a time I thought I'd never see that smile again. You're going to be fine." She realized she was on the verge of babbling on in relief, any trace of a calm and cool exterior gone, and she carefully raised his head up enough to give him some water, then lowered him back down.

"Everyone?" This time he managed to ask the question with a bit of noise in his vocal chords, even if it was one word and a barely hearable whisper of sound. To his relief she knew what he meant by that brief question.

"Everyone is fine, thanks to you. They've all had the medicine. You were the one we were all worried about." Her fingers were running soothingly, hypnotically, through his hair and across his forehead.

He gave that grin of his. "No need. Got a new century . . . that I was determined . . . to see."

"You're not going to miss it."

He managed to squeeze her other hand, then slipped easily back into sleep.

Mina was relieved that he seemed to still have all of his wits, but he was still in quite a weakened condition. She let the tears fall then, before making herself get up to tell the others the good news.

xXx

The next time Tom woke up, Mina was still by his side, and this time Henry was as well. He managed to smile at them, despite feeling like he'd been trampled by a herd of elephants.

"Do you know where you are?" Henry asked him.

His voice was still very hoarse and faint, but he managed. "The plantation. Africa."

"That's right," the doctor said, relieved.

"Though . . . also looks like heaven to me." Tom commented, turning his head to Mina, eyes twinkling at her.

"You _must_ be better! Or channeling Skinner," she replied. Together she and Henry gave him some water.

Tom was stunned to find out how long he had been in bed for.

"You were the sickest, thanks to being so noble and pig-headed," Mina commented. "Some of the others are already up and about."

"Doctor Ben?"

Henry said, "Still in bed, but recovering well. Now I need to check you." Among other things, the doctor took Tom's vitals, listened to his heart and tested the movement of his limbs.

"Very good. But you are _not_ to overdo things."

"At the moment I don't even feel I _can_ do anything . . . ." Just breathing and being awake was wearing him out.

"I know. You'll tire easily and have muscle weakness from the fever and from the extended bedrest. But we'll start you off with some gentle activity and build it up. Now I am going to go get you some broth."

Tom watched him go, then looked around as much as he was able. Mina held her breath, wondering if he could remember Allan, but instead of asking about the hunter, Tom asked, "So, what have I missed?"

To his embarrassment, he dozed off while she was talking, then woke again when Henry came back. The American's apology brought a laugh from Mina. "I can forgive that more easily than you dying on us."

Mina and Henry seemed pleased with the amount of broth he managed to consume. Neither of them had mentioned Allan and he wasn't around anywhere. That just made Tom all the more sure that his mentor had been a hallucination, dream or ghost during his most critical moments. But that made the memories – hazy as they were – all the more special. He had gotten to speak to Allan again, to apologise and thank him, and was left with a definite sense of absolution and healing.

The League's real reasons at keeping mum were something that did not occur to Tom. From his point of view, he was out of danger, and did not realize just how weak he still was. Yes, he was extremely tired, but surely some sleep and rest would cure that, and Henry had said this and that about his having to take it easy, but didn't all doctors? Jekyll was probably exaggerating in an effort to make sure that Tom didn't overdo things for once.

Sawyer was also now assured of his own capabilities. His baptism of fire, even before the fever had struck him, had shown him just how well he could handle a crisis and take charge.

xXx

A full day passed, during which Tom spent a lot of time sleeping, but with every subsequent waking he was able to remain awake and alert for longer. During some of those times Henry helped him to sit up for a little. On the first few occasions the American got dizzy due to no longer lying flat, but recovered from that feeling progressively quicker.

He got to see Captain Nemo, who was recovered enough from his brush with the sickness to be up again.

"Hi, Nemo. I guess it'll be a while until our next martial arts lesson. They came in handy though."

"So I have heard. Well done." Nemo was smiling. "And in regard to hobbies, I have had an idea. When we are next in a position to, I will purchase baseball equipment for you and the crew to use. I think I have come up with a device that will allow a large amount of the balls to be put into it, then fired out one at a time, at set intervals, so you can have batting practise. Especially since I think it will be a while until any of us or the crew becomes a good enough pitcher."

"That would be great, thank you."

Henry was relieved that Tom was showing no signs of developing pneumonia, but continued to monitor him carefully. Henry and Mina also noticed something else about Tom that they discussed together.

"There's a peace in his eyes now," the doctor said. "His self-confidence and resolve is back. Even if he doesn't remember Allan is alive, subconsciously I think Quatermain's presence succeeded while he was sick. That and what Tom was able to do here for these people. What he lost in Mongolia, he's found again."

Mina agreed. "And it's stronger too. Just hopefully it won't be too long before we can give him the best news possible." They both felt guilty at the deception, though it would have been even harder if Tom had actually mentioned the adventurer, which he hadn't. "When can we tell him?"

Henry considered, then said, "I think he's strong enough now to see Allan without ill effects, but Allan is over at the village at the moment and will be gone most of the day. They needed help there, and he was going crazy at being on the plantation but not being able to stay with Tom. So if we tell Tom tonight, then we can have Allan right here to see him."

xXx

Later that day:

It was time for Mina's next 'shift' with Tom. It was an unspoken agreement between the team that at least one League member would be with Tom at all times, and not out of any distrust of the other care-givers. After Henry left to get some sleep, the half-vampire regarded the American.

"You're looking very cheerful. If Skinner were up, I'd think that he'd told you some totally improper jokes. Henry hardly seems the type."

Tom smiled. "No. I was just thinking about Allan," he revealed in his still hoarse and faint voice.

"Oh?" she replied, striving for a neutral tone. The hunter was not back yet and was not due for a while longer.

"Mina, I saw him. When I was sick." He rushed on before she could say anything. "I know it was his ghost or a hallucination, but it was so good to see him again. To talk to him again. It was like a second chance." Then he noticed the strange expression on Mina's face. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked . . . guilty? She was definitely being uncharacteristically hesitant, and that scared him.

Actually, come to think of it, the rest of the League and the others had been acting a little oddly too, but he'd been too exhausted and either heading to sleep or just waking up from sleep to really ponder it or ask questions.

Mina tried to cover for her uncertainty, but it was too late. His heart beat faster. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She confessed.

_Alive? Allan's alive and **here**? He was with me all that time?_

She was being serious, and he was not dreaming. His heart pounded madly. He ignored her pleas to try to calm down and stay still.

"But how? Where is he?" A horrible thought occurred to him. "Is he sick?"

"No – that witch doctor somehow managed to resurrect him after we all left Nairobi. Allan is over at the village at the -"

Tom didn't fully hear her last sentence, a remark of Skinner's at Allan's graveside flittering through his reeling mind.

_Remember how he said that Africa wouldn't let him die? I wish the old boy had been right._

Tom recalled the strange storm as he and Doctor Ben were riding away from Nairobi in the wagon . . . .

"Oh God," the agent whispered, staring up at nothing.

"Tom, forgive us please. We came so close to losing you, and you were – still are – so weak that we didn't know if you'd be able to handle the shock." Tom saw that there were tears in Mina's eyes but it wasn't until later on that he registered just how upset she was. At the moment the fact that Allan was still alive was about all he could handle. He almost missed Mina's next words. She was on the verge of rambling. "Quatermain wanted to be with you once your fever had broken, but he agreed to wait until we knew if you could remember he was there, or when you were stronger. I think he's popped into the room a few times when you've been sleeping though."

Mina for her part was horrified about being the one who had let the cat out of the bag, as well as guilty at all the secrecy. _It had to end some time._ But was now still too soon? Tom's heart and breathing were very fast.

"Please, calm down. I'm sorry –"

"Where did you say he is now?"

"Over at the village. He –" She stopped and suddenly listened intently, as if trying to catch a distant noise. "I can hear horses. People have just arrived outside the house. But it may not be him."

"Please go see. If he is back, I need to see him. Now. I promise . . . I won't try to move. _Please._"

"All right."

It seemed an eternity as he waited. He even began to doubt that he had heard Mina correctly.

Then a blessed, familiar face was looking down at him, the worry on it being overtaken with joy. Allan Quatermain leaned forward, mouth open to speak, and Tom somehow found the strength to launch himself upward, his upper torso at least, towards the hunter, arms going out. Allan hastily bridged the gap, in alarm and delight, catching the young man and holding him safe in his embrace, one arm around his back, the older man's other hand supporting his head.

Real cloth and solid flesh was against Tom; Allan's happy - though startled - exclamation sounded in his ears. The American wanted to say 'sorry' again, but he couldn't get any words out, and also he already knew that Allan did not blame him for his death. Besides, at the moment there was really no need for words. There was time. They had time again. A few tears started to run down Tom's face, but he was too worn out and overloaded for more.

Allan was surprised at Tom's sudden show of agility and the strength in the invalid's arms as he held tightly, as if fearful to let go. Allan could well understand that sentiment, but he tried not to return the hug too fiercely, not out of any lack of feeling, but instead all too aware of the thin and frail body in his grasp. Hopefully Tom had not dangerously overexerted himself just now.

But he was alive and awake and the adventurer was happier than he had been for a long time.

However, Allan was arched over the bed, and his body recognized the pain that posture was giving his back, even if his mind didn't. It made him sit down on the edge of the mattress, still holding his protégé.

"It's all right, son, it's all right." Allan repeated the words soothingly, patting the younger man's back, tousling the curls, rocking slightly back and forth, gaining as much comfort and reassurance as he was giving. After all, he'd had a few seconds of terror upon arriving back at the plantation, when Mina rushed out onto the verandah. He had known it was about Tom, and had been relieved at the good news.

Now, Mina and Henry watched the reunion from the end of the bed.

And Tom's surge of adrenalin was ebbing. Added to that was exhaustion and threatening dizziness.

Allan found himself supporting more and more of Tom's weight, then the young man slumped against the hunter, arms slipping unwillingly from their hold. Allan swung from joy into horrified panic. But even as his fingers went frantically to check for a pulse and even as Henry hurried forward, Allan realized that he could feel a reassuring heartbeat and breathing against his chest and neck. But had the young spy passed out or just gone to sleep?

The doctor examined Tom and nodded reassuringly. "Asleep," he mouthed.

Allan lifted his head, relieved, meeting his eyes and then looking over at Mina. Now he was truly alive again too.

The half-vampire and doctor watched them, knowing that all of the League would rest a lot better tonight.

END PART SEVEN

Notes: Indaba-zimbi and Tota are from the H Rider Haggard novel "Allan's Wife".

Also, any similarities between the final scene above and the final scene of Chapter 10 of Cheryl Witman's story "Peace" were unintentional and completely co-incidental.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sawyer Fan **– That was one of my favourite scenes to write and one of the main reasons why I wrote the story, so I'm glad the reunion went down well with you and Tom and Allan. Thank you!

**Eliza17 **– Was I right? Either way, the more Allan & Tom father/son bonding in fanfics, the better! Thanks very much for your review.

"Rubicon 2 – Africa" Chapter 8

by Ten Mara

Rating: T

CATEGORY: Story, Drama/Angst, Supernatural aspects, hints of potential Tom/Mina

DISCLAIMER: The literary characters referred to are copyright their respective authors, and "LXG: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" is copyright 20th Century Fox, based on the comic books by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill. The characters and movie universe are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. Characters not recognised are mine. There are quotes and mention of scenes from the Tom Sawyer books by Mark Twain and the Allan Quatermain novels by H Rider Haggard.

xXx

A while later Tom woke up, and the first thing he saw was Allan asleep in an armchair beside the bed. The American wondered if this was real, then it hit him. _Ghosts don't **snore**!_

He nearly laughed out loud, but stopped in time. As much as he wanted to wake Allan and talk to him, the hunter looked exhausted. It was enough to know that he was there and alive.

Tears came to Tom's eyes then, which struck him as somewhat ironic. Despite how upset he had felt, it had taken much more of an effort to cry about Quatermain when he thought he was _dead_. Outside of his room and around others, anyway. Sawyer had kept his grieving as private as possible. Mina practically had to pull the tears out of him with a rope on the Nautilus when trying to help him deal with his loss. His emotions about everything that had happened these last few months were also playing a part too.

The agent swiped at his eyes, then heard a noise on the other side of his bed. Mina was there. For a moment he felt embarrassed and uncomfortable that she had witnessed his tears, but there were more important things on his mind. "He's alive."

"And so are you." She bent over and tenderly kissed him on the forehead.

Her actions and the look on her face made him wonder if he was dreaming – and hope very much that he wasn't. Then he was distracted from that line of thought as her smile faded and she said, "I'm sorry we didn't tell you about Allan sooner."

"It's okay. I know why." Indeed, Tom felt extremely weak – he had not done his body any favours in throwing himself into that embrace with the hunter. But the favours it had done his mind and spirit were infinite. So he figured it would balance out fine.

Mina filled him in on how Allan had come from Nairobi when he knew that Tom was here at the plantation and how he had remained by his side taking care of him.

Soon, Allan awoke, and Mina quietly excused herself and slipped away to give them some time alone.

Old and young man looked at each other with undisguised relief.

Sawyer tried to sit up, but Allan hastily stopped him with a firm hand to his shoulder. "No – easy, son. I'll come to you."

He stood, then leaned over so that they could embrace without Tom having to move much.

Then Allan retook his seat, and regarded the young man lying on the bed. He asked with a twinkle in his eyes, "So, Tom – what do you think of Africa?"

"Hot!" Sawyer replied with feeling.

The hunter laughed and nodded. "Trust you to top everything: the most amount of time trapped in a cave, the highest temperature . . . ." He squeezed Tom's hand. "Now set a record for the most amount of rest and model convalescence, hmmm?"

The American pulled a face, then grinned.

The hunter's tone was half light and half rebuking. "You gave me quite the scare."

"So did _you_! I only _almost_ died. You _did_ die." Tom's voice nearly disappeared on him then, not so much from its overuse during his fever but from the emotions going through him at the moment.

"So we do our best never to worry each other again."

"Good idea," the agent said, though privately he wondered how many days those good intentions would last. In their line of work, anyway. He sighed, then asked, "Do you remember me telling you a bit about that balloon excursion I went on?"

Allan's face showed his puzzlement at the topic, but he nodded. "Hijacked by the mad professor, yes."

"Well, during a storm over the Atlantic Ocean at night, he started ranting about how we wanted to leave him. So he said we would leave right away, and he tried to toss me overboard. Actually, he did. I managed to grab hold of the rope ladder as I went. That plunge, that horrible feeling before I got hold of the ladder – that's what I felt like when you died. And afterwards. I kept thinking back over what I should have done differently in the fortress so that you weren't killed."

Allan clasped his shoulder firmly. "No more blame. There is none for you to take." Tom nodded, and Allan could see that it was truly no longer a burden on his shoulders. The hunter could have left the matter there for now, but wanted to do some confessing himself. "My last thoughts . . . . I was so relieved that you were safe, so proud you'd gotten M. Wished I could have known you for longer. I was sad about dying, but sadder that I hadn't really lived for the last few years anyway. It took joining the League and meeting you to change that."

Tom smiled, then hesitantly asked, "Do you – um, do you remember being dead?"

"In a way, yes. A distinct sense of peace and happiness. But I'm feeling very happy here too."

"Mina told me how you stayed with me. And I can remember some of it – it's just that until now I thought you were a ghost or a dream. Thank you."

"That's what a father does. Speaking of which . . . ." Allan took a deep breath, wondering if he should wait, but this was important, and Tom was looking at him curiously, tired but in no imminent threat of falling asleep. "After Harry's death, I turned my back on everything and was rotting away in Africa. I wasn't even enjoying the place anymore, not like I used to. Then came the League to give me a purpose, but you gave me purpose too, that I never thought I'd have again."

Allan hesitated, feeling very nervous. How on earth could he go about asking Tom this very important question. _Would you like to be my son? Would you do me the honour of becoming my offspring?_

Proposing marriage to both his wives hadn't been this awkward for him.

He knew what the answer would be, knew it without a shadow (or a solid) of a doubt, but the manner of asking stumped him.

He felt as awkward as on his wedding day to his first wife - when their eyes met at the beginning of the ceremony he had felt he ought to say something. Stuck for just what, he had ended up stammering, "Good morning," of all things, to the amusement of all their guests.

Then he remembered how easily the right words had come off his tongue earlier, when the young spy was in the fever's grip. "I'm not sure if you remember or not, Tom, but when you were sick I said that I was ready to be taught how to live again, as in really live, and to be a father again. Guess who the only person is that I want to fill those roles? Of teacher and son."

The young man stared in astonishment at this strange but very welcome proposal. Then a delighted smile filled his face. "You _do_ know what you're letting yourself in for, don't you?" he managed to ask.

Allan laughed and nodded. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. And I know I'm getting the better end of the deal. No – it's true. And this time I won't be as absent a father. I was always off hunting, trying to scrape a living for us, and Harry died in his twenties. I missed your childhood and youth too, but hope to see you through the rest of your twenties and beyond. If you don't get into anymore tangles like this one," he said in a gently scolding manner.

The American chuckled, then became serious again. "I never knew my father. Vague memories of my mother. I'd be honoured to have you as my father."

Allan's face showed his joy. "If you were under twenty-one, I'd adopt you. I assume I still could, but I'm not sure of the procedures with you now being of age, and also it would probably require you to change your surname. I don't want you to have to give up your name. You've got too many adventures filed away under it. But that won't stop me redrawing my will to make you my heir."

"Still leave the money to the charities. I'm well off enough. And 'Sawyer' does mean a lot to me," the agent admitted. "But it's great to be considered a Quatermain too." Then he found himself thinking back to one of the times on their mission when Allan had really shown his feelings.

"Tom?" Allan asked softly, giving him a gentle nudge. "You're starting to worry your old man. Is something wrong?"

The American explained. "One of the proudest moments of my life was when you called me 'son' in M's fortress. But it was also one of the worst, because you were dying. Those were your last words."

"I'm just glad they got through to you. Eventually."

"They did, but I'm not having you die for me again."

"If it's a choice between you or me, then let's just say that there _is_ no choice to be made," the hunter replied firmly.

Tom wanted to argue that point, but doubted his voice was up to the task. Or ever would be, for that matter. And how could it be argued anyway? Even before this, Allan would have risked his own life to save him, and now he was his son, well . . . . Then Tom realized there was an important detail to discuss. "What should I call you?"

"Whatever you feel comfortable with. The important thing is we know where we stand. Any terms are just bonuses in the matter."

"Well, I don't want any favouritism," Sawyer said, then winced at how it came out. "I mean - when we're the League, as in on missions, it would be best if I stuck with 'Allan'," he explained hastily, looking up worriedly at the hunter to see if he understood.

Quatermain nodded with perfect comprehension. "That's fair enough."

"But otherwise – " Tom wanted to say it while he still had enough voice left – he could feel it getting fainter, and he was getting more exhausted too. "Thanks, Dad."

xXx

Tom dozed again, then a little while later when he woke, he heard Allan saying, "We've adopted each other." The American opened his eyes and saw that the hunter was talking to Mina, who looked very happy at the news.

Then Allan looked over at something and commented, "Looks like Skinner is up and about again."

Indeed, a floating hat appeared at the bedside, a hat which was now looking and sounding cheerful. "Well, well, who have we here?"

"Are you all right?" Tom asked him.

"Thanks to those meds, I didn't have to go through anything like you had to. Not even close. How are you doing, mate?"

"Very well."

"Just not much of a voice, hey? And did I just hear something about adoption?"

"Yes." Allan nodded proudly towards the bed and said, "I have a son."

A lot of possible jokes sprang into Rodney's mind then, but he resisted, even though they were good-natured ones. Instead, when he congratulated them and said, "You two deserve each other," the others could tell he was being totally sincere.

xXx

Skinner was well enough to stay with Tom and keep him company while Allan had a nap on a nearby bed. Rodney looked over at the at last peacefully sleeping adventurer.

"Now I know what a really happy Quatermain looks like. It suits him. And it's good to see you back to your cheerful self too, if a very pale and thin version thereof. You'd do anything to get out of cricket training, wouldn't you!"

Sawyer began to comment, but his voice went hoarse again. He gave a wry grimace, then reminded himself that things could be a lot worse. Skinner gave him some water.

"You were pretty vocal for a while there, ki – mate," Rodney revealed. "That's one of the reasons why you don't have much of a voice at the moment."

"Vocal?"

"Didn't seem like you were spilling any spy secrets. Let's just say that I am now able to recite the Declaration of Independence. And parts of other revered works. You seemed to think you were back in the schoolroom."

"I'm sorry," Tom said with some embarrassment, though he was also grinning at the mock pain in the invisible man's voice.

"Don't be. That 'Jabberwocky' poem was pretty good. The first dozen times anyway. And as I've said before, you read things out very entertainingly. Besides, I admit there was one time where I was heartily wishing you'd cease and desist, so what did you go and do? You went so silent and still that I thought you'd died on me." Skinner's delivery was light, but the memory still brought a horrible feeling of dread each time he revisited it.

"I'm not that spiteful."

Didn't think so, ki – Tom."

"Skinner, what's up?" the American demanded with some amusement.

"Whaddya mean?"

"I mean, that's twice you've started to call me 'kid', then corrected yourself."

"Being sick hasn't affected your powers of observation. Just a habit I'm trying to break myself out of."

"Why?"

Rodney shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "After we found out what you did here, the example you set, it just doesn't seem right to keep calling you 'kid'."

_Is that why Allan hasn't called me 'lad' or 'boy'? Not that we've gotten to talk much, but he has got a new term to call me anyway. And it's a much better one. _"I know you didn't mean anything insulting by it."

"True. But it doesn't suit you."

xXx

Later Skinner was chatting to Mina when he realised something.

"What is it?"

"When Tom called Allan 'Dad' back there, several time during the conversation, I didn't even really notice the change, because it sounded so natural and right. It just didn't hit me until now. Does that make any sense whatsoever?"

"Perfect sense."

xXx

The first time Henry helped Tom to stand, the younger man was shocked by his own frailty. The spy's muscles were tired and aching, and trembling set in despite his best efforts. The next attempt was better, however the effort tired him out very, very quickly, even with support.

That inwardly appalled Sawyer. He knew and accepted that he was very lucky to have survived what he had with no permanent effects, but this temporary weakness was hard for someone young and used to being so physically active.

"You'll improve over the next several days; you'll see," Henry promised.

_I'd better!_

Allan knew what was going through Tom's mind and distracted him as best he could. They swapped more adventure tales and talk.

The hunter asked, "Have you read _'The Ingoldsby Legends'_?"

"I've heard of them, but not gotten around to reading them."

"I think I've got my pocket copy on me. I can read it to you, if you like." Allan found the book in his shirt pocket, then realised something. "My glasses . . . . My good pair is broken and I'm not sure where the spare pair is. Probably in Nairobi - I didn't think to bring them with me. But I can recite parts from memory." Then a thought occurred to him and he curiously opened up to a random page and tried to read the print.

"Dad, what're you doing?" Tom asked.

Allan gave a chuckle. "When I was resurrected my wounds were completely gone, so I just wondered if my eyesight had been affected for the better too. But I guess that was too much to hope for." He tucked the book away.

"Has there been any word on what happened to the medicine that was supposed to come before you did? The riders?"

"Barrington's men ambushed the riders who were coming back from Nairobi. They stole the medicine. The riders who were sent to the Sydney farm never got there – we're not sure what happened to them yet, but Mr and Mrs Sydney were unaware of the outbreak over here. And at the moment we don't know where Barrington and his group ended up." Quatermain's face hardened. "But when I do find them, look out."

Tom remembered something else. "I've been meaning to ask – have we got word about whether the League is official?"

"We've been a bit too distracted. There should be word when we get back to Nairobi. Nemo is going back there soon to contact the Nautilus, and he can contact your people too to let them know what's going on."

"If the League is official, you'll be a part of it, won't you? You'll lead it?"

"Just try to stop me! Though you'd do well in that position yourself."

Those words came back to the spy when Dale came in to thank Tom, and get thanked in turn.

_I came here to learn about Allan, but I think I ended up learning more about myself, _Tom realised He no longer had doubts about himself as a leader. But it was great to have a certain cantankerous leader back too.

Sawyer said to Dale, "Everyone I've spoken to has said how good you were at keeping things going here when I was sick."

The native worker smiled. "I like helping sick people. Every time the Doctor has visited us in the past, I have been interested to see what he does."

"Do you want to become a doctor?" the American asked with interest.

Dale's face became very animated at the thought, but then fell. "I – I cannot. It is impossible. Excuse me, I must go."

Worried and curious, Tom watched him hurry out and made a mental note to investigate that matter further as soon as he could.

xXx

The other patients had by this time been moved out of the room, and Tom was the only one left, now in one of the proper beds.

Doctor Ben Hanrahan was up and about – he also examined the agent and confirmed Henry's diagnosis that he would be fine.

Most of the rest of the League were in Tom's sickroom and heard the good news, and were relieved. Mina and Rodney even hugged (initiated by the latter, of course). Nemo's smile was the broadest that anyone could ever remember seeing it, as much as one could with his beard.

Hanrahan also had something to say to Sawyer. "Now I know why you're a part of this group. I'm glad you were here for these people. "

Ben looked over at Allan, who as usual, was sitting in the wingback chair at the bedside. "Well, old fellow. Now that all the worry and danger are over, I must bring a rather odd matter to your attention. As you know, you made me executor of your estate, and I started distributing it as instructed. Now that you're back, I'm not sure what happens!"

"Most of it was to charitable institutions or to dear friends, so that is no matter. Besides, possessions and monetary wealth aren't important. I have all that I want." Allan looked down at the half-asleep but happy Tom, and then over at those of the League who were present. "In that regard, I'm an extremely rich man."

"And you still have a roof over your head," Captain Nemo pointed out with a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, and quite a roof it is too! Thank you for providing it."

"Well, from now on you probably don't need a will," Skinner remarked. "If anything happens to you, we just cart you back to Africa, get the witch doctor and up you rise again. Just try not to get blown up. That could make it a bit tricky."

"I'm not sure if it was a one time deal or not. Still, I am going to do my best to avoid that situation happening again for a long time."

"Please do," came from Tom.

xXx

Jekyll, Mina and Allan continued helping Tom with his progressive activity within the immediate confines of the room. He was walking, going progressively further, all the time with at least one of them supporting him. When Allan was not one of his 'support pillars', the hunter hovered protectively in the background and alternated between pride in his son's progress and trying to hide his concern.

Usually forced inactivity sent the spy crazy, but this time he was managing to be a model of good and patient behaviour – on the outside, and even on the inside most of the time too. The others kept him company, talked and joked, and read to him whatever he wanted or filled him in on news and stories from their pasts. Also he knew how lucky he was to be alive and that Allan was back, so those were two amazing second chances, and it did not seem right to be ungrateful that he couldn't be his usual active self at the moment.

"You're doing very well, Tom," Jekyll commented as he and Mina helped him back to bed after a walking excursion in the room, his most sustained one so far. "But don't try it by yourself yet."

Tom nodded as he sank back against the mattress and pillow. Even though he was worn out from the effort of walking, he couldn't help but be amused at the friendly order. _Like any of you would let me try it alone anyway!_ At least one League member was always in the room, which tended to curb any ideas of solo efforts. Smiling, he quickly drifted off.

When he woke, to his amazement he was actually alone. He sat up carefully and swallowed the water that was in a glass on the bedside table, then picked up his pocket watch from beside the pitcher. It was late afternoon. _Over three hours. Hopefully the others are getting some rest too._ He felt stronger and clearer headed.

Sounds of distant laughter came through the nearest window. The window had been left open to allow fresh air in, with a strong net screening to keep out any insects. The agent looked longingly at that window, filled with a sudden desire to at least be able to look at the outside world and what was going on in it, even if he couldn't be out there just yet.

The window wasn't too far away, really, and he figured that he could get to it by holding onto the furniture that was along the wall. Plus there was a settee below the window, so once he got there he could sit on it and catch his breath and look to his heart's content. The curtains stirred in a small breeze as he watched. Tom wanted to feel that air on his face. And he was feeling a lot better.

Confident that reaching the window was a simple, uncomplicated matter, the American swung his legs around and shuffled his frame forwards so that his feet were touching the floor. Allan's wingback chair was now in reach, and Tom used that as a support to push himself to a standing position.

_Made it!_ He stood there, shaking a little, moving his hands to better grips on the solid upholstery. Then after getting used to standing, he started moving along, around the back of the chair, heading for the next piece of furniture.

Tom was at a wooden bureau, nearing his window goal, when disaster struck. There was a heavy fold in one of the rugs that he didn't notice – until his foot encountered it in mid step and he lost his balance.

In trying to grab hold of something solid, he ended up knocking something over on the bureau, which it hit the floor with a crash at almost the same time as he did.

"Ouch . . . ." Tom muttered into the rug. _I wanted air, not floor._ "Damn." But apart from some future bruises and injured pride, he could tell he hadn't done any serious damage to himself. He'd taken out the metal pitcher and washbasin from the bureau. They were lying next to him.

There was the sound of running footsteps and the door was flung open. There stood Mina. The American tried to work out whether to go for nonchalance or sheepishness and hope for mercy in his weakened condition. He had plenty of water next to his bed, so saying he was thirsty and going for the other pitcher was no good. The 'I fell out of bed' excuse would not work – he was too far from it to be feasible – and besides, it was pretty obvious what he'd been up to.

Indeed, the fear and worry on Mina's face quickly gave way to fury. She looked a single hairs breath off morphing into vampire mode. Before Tom could get a word in or attempt to start peeling himself off the floor, she stormed towards him, yelling, "What are you doing? What were you thinking? You **idiotic** male!"

She loomed over him, hands on her hips, and continued her tirade at an incredible decibel level. "You are sick! You nearly **died**. YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE UP!"

_Well, technically speaking, at the moment I'm not!_ Tom thought but wisely held his tongue.

"What if you'd badly hurt yourself?" Mina continued on in this vein, not stopping for breath. Tom had gotten himself into a sitting position by this stage but before he could do more, she swooped. He expected to be supported back to bed, but instead she hauled him bodily into her arms and headed for the bed, as if he were a bride being carried across the threshold. Not that the 'groom' was at all pleased. And Tom now knew that ice blue eyes could be just as piercing and deadly as bright red.

By this stage there was a growing audience. Allan, Nemo and Jekyll were now in the room, having been summoned by all the noise, but kept their distance due to the unfolding melodrama and the fact that Tom wasn't hurt. Besides, this was the most entertainment and excitement there had been for ages.

Drawn by the yells, Doctor Ben and a number of the natives also pressed into the room or looked in the doorway, and quite a few dark faces (and one invisible one) were now pressed against the windows or screens, their owners uncaring that they were stomping all over the flowerbeds. A number of jaws dropped at seeing a woman carry a man so easily. Mina's feats at the accident site in Nairobi and her true nature had not reached these ears yet.

Mina was still at it, in incredibly fine verbal form as she dumped Tom unceremoniously on his bed. Fortunately he was no longer on a makeshift one, so it protested, but withstood the strain. To him, she was outdoing even a combination of his Aunts Polly and Sally when he or one of the other children were in trouble. As Huck had once said about Aunt Sally: "She was so mad she couldn't get the words out fast enough, and she gushed them out in one everlasting freshet."

_The girl I'm going to marry won't fight, _popped into Tom's head once more, only with considerably more incongruity than the last time.

As for Allan, as much as he was concerned for his son's wellbeing, he was not going to go anywhere near until Mina had finished her unleashing. Unless she morphed into vampire mode, of course. But for now, a good ticking off would do the young man no harm and hopefully prevent him trying that trick again too soon – though Tom's solo had at least shown that his adventurous spirit had not been boiled away by the illness. He had been so quiet and tame lately that Allan had begun to worry, as ridiculous as that sounded.

_Well, I am the one who told him to outdo everyone with a model convalescence!_

Besides, it wasn't often that the hunter got to admire a beautiful woman in full fury. Even better, that fury was not directed at him. Until now he had no idea of her verbal talents, but she was even outdoing his friend Captain Good. Good had been in the Navy and had talent at yelling and swearing, which he had demonstrated to great effect during one particular incident in their quest for King Solomon's Mines. He had sworn for ten minutes straight, scarcely ever repeating himself.

Mina was showing no signs of stopping, and she was also showing signs of other things, most likely inadvertently. But Quatermain was an old hand at observing human nature. There was more than anger and worry fueling this incredible outburst, though the hunter had a feeling it would be a while yet before that other ingredient was fully acknowledged and acted upon. If at all. _But if they do, then perhaps I'll gain a daughter-in-law as well as a son!_

By now people were climbing on each other's backs at the window to get a look in. At least they did not have to ask the closest what was being said – Mina's declarations about Tom's foolishness were loud and clear, and probably audible back in Nairobi.

The American lay on the bed on his back, arms folded across his chest and mutiny starting to blossom under the tirade. As wrong as Tom knew he was, the male ego does not appreciate being roared at, even if by the one he coveted. That, and a degree of humiliation and frustration at the shackles he was being kept under while recuperating finally made him snap.

So when Mina showed no sign of flagging or stopping, continuing her telling-off with an angry, "You were _told_ not to try walking alone! You're still too weak!" he pushed himself up on his elbows and fired a salvo back.

"That was three whole hours ago!" he yelled without any irony whatsoever.

The gathered audience held their collective breath, divided about whether this was an incredibly stupid or incredibly brave move. Mina was momentarily shocked speechless. She stared at the young man, who was now propped up on his hands in a sitting position, at his frustrated pout, the light of battle – of life – finally blazing out of his pale face, and her rage disappeared as if through a trapdoor.

His words really registered with her then, their quintessential Tom Sawyer attitude, and, much to everyone's astonishment, she started to laugh. "Oh Tom," she managed to get out, "You are a one! And thank God you're still with us."

His own frustration quickly dried up and died then too. He also started laughing, seeing the funny side. Then Mina leaned down and enfolded him in a hug.

They held each other tightly, before realising just how much company they now had and hastily pulled away, staring around in amazement and embarrassment.

"Okay, folks. Show's over," Skinner announced from his position outside the open window which had been Tom's goal, then regretted he had spoken when Mina turned on him.

"And what do you think you're doing there?"

Skinner felt and heard the natives disappear from around him as if they were fog in the sun's rays. Thus abandoned, he tried to stay brave. "Love, where else would they get to see a woman manhandle a man and throw him onto a bed, hey? They couldn't even get that in the bawdier theatres in Europe! Unless it's a man dressed in drag, of course. Next time you do it, be less vocal if you don't want to attract attention."

Blushing, Mina sighed. Until this incident, Tom had been a model convalescent, even though it went against his very nature. But the fear that had gone through her when she heard the thud and crash and realized something had happened to him . . . . Especially when she had left his bedside for what was only going to be ten minutes.

By now Allan figured it was safe enough to approach the bed. "Are you all right, son?" he asked, touching the crown of Tom's head.

"I'm okay. Even my eardrums."

"Good, then I won't box them! I think you've been told off enough. For now."

"Hey, I was doing fine trying to get to the window by myself. I didn't fall – a fold in the rug tripped me." _You guys left it unattended!_ But he had enough self preservation and sense left to know that saying the latter out loud would not be a good idea.

END PART EIGHT

One more chapter to go! Of this installment anyway.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sawyer Fan **– More father/son bonding? I think I can manage that! Glad the adoption scene worked for you. And we had the same favourite line. Thanks so much for being there and your encouragement.

**q1120790 **– Writing that tirade scene was great fun and my mission is to fill my stories with as much Tom goodness as possible G . Thanks very much for your comments!

**Ingra **– I love doing banter between those pairings. I'm glad you're still enjoying it and thanks for your reviews. Hope you're not being overworked at work!

**Twitch in my eye **– Thank you - It is going to keep going! It just might take a few months to write Rubicon 3.

**Diamond77** – Wow, thanks! You'll see in the author's notes at the end that I'm lucky to have friends who are great beta readers and they also have handy research knowledge I can call on. So when I get a scenario in my mind for a story or fic, they do their best to help me make it as real and polished as possible.And writing for dear Tom is such a pleasure.

**Jane QD** – LOL. Sorry for the wait – I didn't expect or plan it to be three weeks before this final part was ready. I've been enjoying reading the books of the League characters and hope to read the rest and weave more details from them into Rubicon 3 (and also more Tom/Mina interaction). My med betas were so handy when I said to them "I want to find or invent an illness where this and this happens." Thank you!

"Rubicon 2 – Africa" Chapter 9

by Ten Mara

Rating: T

CATEGORY: Story, Drama/Angst, Supernatural aspects, hints of potential Tom/Mina

DISCLAIMER: The literary characters referred to are copyright their respective authors, and "LXG: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" is copyright 20th Century Fox, based on the comic books by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill. The characters and movie universe are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. Characters not recognised are mine.

xXx

Father and son were having a chat, Tom sitting up in bed and Allan comfortably settled in the wingback chair.

"By the way, I seem to have come into possession of your Winchester rifle," the hunter said.

"And I've got your elephant gun. Trade ya," the American answered with a grin. "No, actually, I've got another rifle now – you keep that one and I'll give you back Matilda too."

"As long as you're sure. We can borrow each other's guns for target practice."

Doctor Hanrahan came in and sat down on the other side of the bed. He answered Sawyer's questions about how everyone was healing and how things were going. Then he commented, "Dale has been a Godsend. He's a very quick learner when it comes to medical things. He's got enthusiasm for it too."

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Tom said. "I asked if he wanted to become a doctor and I could tell he would love to, but then he said it was impossible. Well, Allan and I could hunt around and find him a university, and I'd gladly pay his way. That won't be a problem."

Hanrahan sighed. "The money side is a bit complicated, and not just in what it would pay to put him through university. Dale is an indentured servant. I don't know all of the details but he is working for the Barringtons to pay back money that his father was said to owe them. Dale's father is an invalid now, with no hope of performing the work himself."

"Dale is Jacob's servant, isn't he? I'll talk to Jacob and see if I can work something out." Tom looked ready to get out of bed then and there to go look for him.

"Wait," came from Allan. "First we had better have more certainty about what Dale would want to do and where he could go if he does want an education."

Hanrahan said, "I could certainly use a helper. Dale is a good, hardworking young man. If he was interested and if Jacob will let him go –"

"Oh, I'll take care of that," was Sawyer's definite reply.

"- I could teach Dale and take him with me on rounds and consultations and see how he goes. He can board in Nairobi with me. He might be happy remaining as my assistant, or go off and get further knowledge and a doctorate. If the latter, then his time with me would give him some valuable experience. Or he could decide the medical field isn't what he wanted after all."

Tom said, "At least he'd be free to choose."

"It's just a matter of getting him to that point." Hanrahan then explained what he saw as potential problems: Although Jacob would probably never admit it, Dale was the closest he had to a friend on the plantation since he had come here. To the Barringtons, yes they may have taken Jacob in when he was orphaned, and considered him hardworking and trustworthy, but he was still not that close to the family. In a way he was another worker, albeit a senior one with more privileges.

So would Jacob do the right thing by Dale and let him leave the plantation or want to keep him around regardless of the opportunity that was being offered? And would he also consider that this potential career was beyond a native like Dale?

There was a brief silence when Doctor Ben finished giving his observations.

Allan stroked his beard. "So do we ask Jacob first? Or check with Dale and perhaps get his hopes up over something that won't pan out?"

xXx

Sawyer turned the situation over and over in his head, and what he had observed about Jacob since coming to the plantation, trying to work out how best to approach him. The outbreak of Black Darrow Fever had shown another side to Jacob's character – when he stopped keeping his distance and made the decision to come help out, despite the risks. Dale had told Tom recently that Jacob did well at helping with the stricken people until becoming sick himself.

So those were promising signs. The agent decided that he would put forward the proposal to Jacob in a straightforward and practical manner, and see how it was taken. Then if it failed, there were other ways he could try to get the desired result.

When Tom got to talk to Barrington's nephew, the young man stared at him. "You'd pay your own money?"

"I have the funds and I know they would be well spent."

"I'd have to ask my uncle," Jacob hedged.

"Dale is your servant, isn't he? And you're in charge of the plantation at the moment. It's your decision. Besides, this way you'll get all the money and quickly."

"I'll have a think about it." With that, Jacob quickly got up and left, but not before Tom saw a brief forlorn look on his face.

xXx

News reached the plantation that Mr Barrington and his family had been found out in the bushland next to a river, but they were in no condition to explain what had happened. It seemed they had been stranded there by Barrington's own men when they argued about how to distribute the medicine they had stolen. The family was in a bad way: Mrs Barrington had died, and their daughter was very sick. Barrington's son and brother who had been among the first to be stricken at the plantation were weak but alive: it looked like he had been able to give them full doses before the men rebelled. The men had probably been showing symptoms themselves by that stage and been worried they would not get any or enough of the medicine since they were not relatives.

As for the riders who had been originally supposed to go to the Sydneys' home to get the medicine, it seemed that they had given into their fears and abandoned their mission, getting as far away from the area as possible.

xXx

The witch doctor from the village near Nairobi turned up at the Barrington plantation. Allan thanked him for bringing him back to life.

"It helped that the mind and heart were willing to be alive again," was the reply.

The witch doctor wanted to see Tom. Jekyll and Skinner watched him and the hunter go into the American's room. "I wonder if that bloke's going to bless Tom like he did Allan," Rodney mused.

"Like father, like son," Henry said with a chuckle.

But later when they mentioned it to Quatermain, he said that was unlikely. "As much as I'm sure he would have liked to, the witch doctor was only able to bestow that blessing on me because of a certain set of circumstances at the time. Magical ones, you might say, that are extremely rare. And it seems like it is only a one time thing, unfortunately."

xXx

Tom was reading in bed when Jacob came to the doorway and said without preamble: "I've told Dale he can go with the doctor. The way I figure it, we have a duty to civilize the natives, and becoming a doctor or helping one out is a very civilized thing."

"That's great. Thank you," Tom said with delight.

Before the spy could invite him into the room or comment further, Jacob started to leave, looking a bit melancholy.

"Jacob, wait. Come in and sit down." Barrington's nephew hesitated. "Come in," Tom insisted. "That's Dale sorted out, but what about you?"

Jacob looked startled. "Me?"

"Yes. Dale wants to do medicine. What do you want to do? Especially after everything that has just happened. If your uncle pulls through, he might sell this place. Even if he doesn't, that doesn't mean that you have to stay if you don't want to."

"I – I hadn't really thought. I don't really know . . . ."

"Then maybe it's time to find out."

xXx

Mina, Rodney, Nemo and Allan were sitting out on the screened in verandah of the plantation house in the relative cool of early evening. Finally they had the time to catch their breaths, relax and enjoy the scenery, and contemplate issues like how much longer they needed to stay here for Tom to convalesce enough, and where to from here. They were waiting for Henry to join them before they really got into the latter subjects, needing his expert opinion.

Mina sat, creating a little breeze for herself with a hand fan, and she was just putting her glass back down when Henry came out onto the verandah. But he did not close the door behind him, instead standing and holding it wide open. Mina realized from the look on his face as to what was happening, and sure enough, a few seconds later Tom appeared through the doorway, walking, being carefully supported on either side by Dale and Jacob, his arms around their shoulders.

Everyone was happy at the surprise, because this was the first time that the agent had been allowed out of his sick room. "Just for a little while," Henry said, even though he did not want to be a killjoy.

The rest of the team sprang up, making a great fuss, overjoyed to see the spy up. Tom blushed fever-red as the others hurried to make sure he had a comfortable chair, cushions, water within easy reach, and so forth. This was not the sort of attention that he was comfortable with anymore. But he could see how much he meant to the rest of the League, how glad they were to see him, and felt the same in return. So he allowed them to make a fuss and settle him into a wingback chair.

Besides, he was ecstatic to finally be out of that sickroom.

Then Dale and Jacob made to exit, halting when Sawyer invited them to stay.

Jacob smiled. "Thanks, but no. We'll give you folks some catch up time together. And besides, with Dale leaving soon, there are preparations to make."

The League watched the two young men go. Everyone on the plantation knew by now that Dale was leaving and where he was going, and the Nautilus group was glad that Tom had been able to help both Dale and Jacob. With the American's encouragement, Jacob was now considering his own future. There was the chance that he might strike out on his own soon, instead of remaining at the plantation.

Everyone settled back in their chairs, then sat contented.

"I think this is the first time that the League is all back together again properly," Henry remarked. _Well, there have been other times, but at least now Tom isn't in bed._ Then Hyde boomed in his head: _What about Dorian Gray, you idiot? _Realising his possible inadvertent blunder, Henry shot a nervous look at Mina.

She caught his glance and understood, but smiled. "You're right, Henry. This is the real League. The true one."

Tom had been glad to note in these recent days that the last traces of formality had gone and that everyone was calling each other by their first names most of the time, or if a surname was used (mainly Skinner's) the tone clearly showed the difference. Once or twice Mina had called Allan 'Mr Q' again and he professed he didn't mind it "this time around. I guess dying does that to a person".

It had been Skinner who pointed out with some amusement that although Tom had taken easily to calling the hunter "Dad" and "Allan", the two lapsed unconsciously back into 'Quatermain' and 'Sawyer' during a disagreement.

_For a start we were a League, but not a team, _Sawyer thought._ Then we were all friends or becoming friends after Mongolia, but now we're a family. Despite ourselves, somehow that's what we've become. One of the oddest but most dedicated families I've ever come across._

"I have had word from the telegraph office in Nairobi that the League has been declared official, if we are interested. All in favour?" Allan asked. He raised his right hand and looked around.

Every right hand went up simultaneously.

Allan smiled in satisfaction. "Good. We're back in business, or will be once you're well enough again, son."

Tom grinned in anticipation. "Getting there, Dad."

"Well, I notice that you are finally wearing your suspenders where they belong, over your shoulders instead of around your rear end."

"He did not have a choice," Henry remarked. "With the weight he's lost, it's the only way to keep those pants up now!"

Tom was tempted to poke his tongue out in reply, but restrained himself. They were right. In fact, the suspenders were only even just clinging on to his shoulders.

Talk flowed on to other subjects, then during the conversation, Skinner mentioned the bullet scar on the American's leg. Tom looked embarrassed. "Oh yes. Back from when I was younger and more foolish."

"If you were even more foolish then than you are now - how the heck did you survive your teenage years?" Skinner couldn't help commenting. "Or only get out of it with _one_ bullet wound?"

"Hey, I'll have you know that my misspent youth stood me in good stead for my eventual career. Being able to lie convincingly, which also leads into strategic planning, then there's the ability to withstand pain from all the beatings I got in school, quick reflexes from snagging flies in church . . . . It all ends up counting. Though I used to have trouble memorizing bits from the Bible."

"How did you turn that around? Because an excellent memory would be essential, and you obviously have that," came from Henry.

"It was a matter of incentive and interest. The stories in the Bible were interesting, but having to learn them off by heart was a chore. If there was a reward in sight, I could quickly apply myself. I had large tracts of adventure stories, like Robin Hood, in my memory, so I could act them out in the forest with my friends. That was for fun. I gradually realized that I had the memory to retain things if they were of interest or use to me. So when the American Government approached me when I was fifteen, there was ample reason to really apply myself to my studies so that they would recruit me."

"Fifteen?" Nemo asked. "When you solved the murder?"

"Yes."

"That'd be you!" Skinner said with a laugh. "And that would have gotten their attention."

"Well, my teacher was certainly surprised by my change in attitude and academic progress. But actually, I was in contact with the Government a little earlier than that too," Tom revealed. "Some friends and I ended up in a special hot air balloon that a mad professor had invented. That was the first time I ever saw the ocean. I nearly ended up in it too, permanently! But then the Professor ended up in the sea, fortunately _after_ teaching us how to pilot the balloon, and we traveled to Africa. Then when we returned to my hometown the law appropriated the balloon. A few agents came then, and I showed them how it worked. They took it away. Not sure if they ever worked out the strange power source that thing had though, otherwise they would have made a heap of them by now," he mused. "It gave the pilot incredible control over the balloon."

"We must discuss that craft in detail sometime," Nemo said with great interest. Tom nodded.

"So the Government wanting to recruit you didn't put a crimp in any other career plans you had?" Rodney asked.

"I wanted to be a pirate for a long time. My other plans varied. All had glory in common though. Judge Thatcher had me lined up to be a lawyer or a soldier," Sawyer said.

"A lawyer?" Rodney spluttered.

Mina raised an eyebrow at Tom's revelation. Her husband had been a lawyer. "Well, great observational skills, shrewd judgement of people's personalities and characters, an excellent memory and a strategic mind would lend themselves to law. But – you also loved action, adventure and the outdoors. Law enforcement suited you much better!"

"That's what I thought. Just too bad that after all that hankering for fame I now can't tell people what I really do. The paperwork is pretty bad too, but nowhere near what it would be if I were in law."

Talk moved on to other things, then a noise came from out in the section of garden that ran along the porch. They looked over and in the moonlight saw the cheery faces of two eleven year old native girls who were spying on them, or rather on Tom. He smiled and waved at the pair, who shrieked with joy, then ran off, giggling.

Sawyer watched them go with some bemusement.

Skinner laughed again. "More admirers of yours. Tom, you amaze me. Even though you're still not one hundred percent, you've got charm to burn, and the girls just fall at your feet!"

"You taught me everything I know on the subject," the spy fired back wryly.

"Can't have – I haven't seen you once try to pinch Mina's bottom."

Much laughter ensued at that, though then Allan suggested with a very straight face that it might be time for a change of subject.

"Yes," Mina said primly, though amusement was clear in her eyes. "Just as my hips are no one's business, neither is that!"

Another five or so minutes passed in banter and conversation. Then Henry asked Mina a question about Venice, knowing she had been there on another occasion apart from their brief 'save the city' stop. The others started asking about it too. Mina was answering one such question, when she stopped in mid sentence, a soft, affectionate smile on her face.

The others realized what had happened even before they turned to trace her gaze. Tom had fallen asleep, his head resting against the left wing of his chair. He looked peaceful and a lot healthier than before.

Smiles broke out all around, tinged with a degree of relief, as they again thought how close they had come to losing the American member of their family.

"He lasted longer than I thought he would," Jekyll said, then chuckled. "Though I should know better than to underestimate Tom of all people."

Mina knew that unlike in the library on the way to Africa, they could make plenty of noise and not make a dent in his sleep. He would probably be completely unaware when they carried him back to his room. But by and by he would regain his skills and endurance.

It was so good to have his heart and spirit healed – his body would catch up.

She also remembered how in the library she had considered – or shied away from – her feelings for him. And now? The main things to concentrate on at the moment were Tom's convalescence and Allan's return. Both things would keep the American occupied enough for now.

_Allan said he would not, could not, lose another son. Could I stand losing another I let myself love? For I would surely outlive Tom, no matter if he lives to one hundred after surviving this._

_Henry would really be more of a match for me, but I just do not feel for him in that way. He has realised that too. We suit well as friends, or like brother and sister._

For now it was enough that Tom was alive and on the mend. She tried to let the matter drop from her mind, and not dwell on the feelings that had gone through her when the young agent was hovering so close to death.

xXx

The time came when Tom was well enough to travel back to Nairobi, even if that travel was done a lot more slowly than usual.

Dale and Doctor Hanrahan were already in Nairobi. When they had left the plantation, Jacob shook Dale's hand and said he would come visit soon to see how he was doing. Jacob was going to run the plantation for now and consider his options. Once he knew for sure when his uncle was going to sell the place, he would decide where his future lay.

In Nairobi Allan chose what possessions from his home to take to the Nautilus and what to leave behind. He went to the graveyard and stood at Harry's grave. He looked at the disturbed earth beside his son's last resting place, finding it hard to believe that he himself had actually been in that ground too, dead.

_I remember there being a peace though, something beyond death, and I'm sure that we were together again, Harry. _The knowledge helped him a lot. _That time will come once more. But not just yet._

He remembered the books he had written of his adventures, how he had altered Harry's fate in them. Not willing to relive the mission that had cost so dear a price, the hunter had instead written that his son caught smallpox while doing work at a hospital. He had also put down the location of Harry's grave as being in England, not wanting it or himself to be disturbed by anyone.

It didn't work. Just like how he had killed himself off at the end of his last book in an effort to be left alone. The story-seekers still came.

Allan rested his hand on the top of the cross that marked his elder son's grave, and bowed his head in prayer. A few minutes later, eyes wet, he was approaching the verandah of his home. Tom stood there waiting, and Allan could see that he was hesitant and worried about him. The American had known where he was going and was now clearly not sure if he wanted to be left alone.

The hunter ended that uncertainty by embracing Tom and saying huskily, "Thank God I didn't lose you too."

xXx

Goodbyes had been made to Hanrahan and Dale. Dale was thoroughly enjoying and excelling at his new role.

The League headed back slowly and in sections to the port town where they had left the Nautilus in August. There were no plans to go traveling elsewhere yet, either by the submarine or land. Henry thought it enough that they stay at that port, to give Tom time to recover from the trip, and let the sea air and Nautilus comforts aid the process along as well.

One night along the way they camped in the wagons instead of at a village, town or house. Allan woke up just before dawn and quietly moved out onto the wagon box to await the sunrise. He always enjoyed taking in the sight.

At the moment there was just a vast field of white mist suffused towards the east by a tremulous golden glow. Occasionally noises would come through the mist; animals astir somewhere out there.

Allan was tempted to go wake Tom and bring him out to experience the sunrise, but this time of the morning was cold and he was loath to wake his son. There would be other times, and by then the American would be stronger. The hunter settled himself with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and patiently waited for the mist to thin.

Within thirty seconds there were sounds inside the wagon and a tousled blonde head appeared next to him.

Allan went to give a 'you shouldn't be up' look and comment, but the young man was wearing a blanket like a cape and his gaze was fixed on the increasing golden glow. The tiredness on his face was quickly being overtaken by fascination. So Allan dropped any planned rebukes and settled for being glad that they were going to share this sunrise after all.

Silently and companionably they sat together as the mist thinned and thinned until finally it melted away and all around was miles on miles of wide rolling country interspersed with bush. Some gazelle were gamboling around.

"Hey, those are Tommies. 'My' gazelle," Tom said with a grin, drinking it all in.

"That's right. But thirty years ago this area was swarming with game. So many hooves that it would sound like constant thunder, all the noises of the different animals, and then when you could see, everywhere would be black with game. Two thousand wildebeest, springbok leaping . . . ."

"I wish I'd seen that. I wish that Huck could have seen this. At least he got to see some of Africa."

"I've seen this sight many a hundred times, but I'm always glad to see it again, even without so many animals. And speaking of game, you and I must go hunting sometime – and for something other than Hyde!"

"Sometime. But for now I think I've had enough of death. And these are such strange, wonderful creatures that I'd feel a lot different about killing them to bagging a jack rabbit."

Allan nodded in understanding. Besides, it was hunting which had already thinned the game down so much. Together father and son went back to enjoying the beautiful scene before them.

xXx

Finally the port town came into view and Tom saw the Nautilus. It was towering above the dock. "Home," he said happily. Then he realized exactly what he had said and how much he really meant it. The Mississippi would always flow through his veins, but he had truly missed the Nautilus. There was the Chef's wide range of amazing food, and especially his special fixings of Southern food just to please Tom. Not to mention cricket and martial arts practise and chatting with the crew.

Sawyer was so much looking forward to seeing his cabin again and sleeping in his own bed at last.

The American had always had a wanderlust and this submarine represented the perfect way for him to get around and see exotic places, even more so than most other agents would get the chance to.

Tom looked around and saw that Nemo was pleased with his comment. And from the looks on everyone else's face (or in Rodney's case, the way his hat was nodding up and down), the rest of the League felt the same way. When Tom looked at Mina the gaze between half-vampire and spy lingered before reluctantly breaking.

Even Allan felt like he was coming home. The hunter was a little startled when he realised, considering how deeply Africa permeated his own being.

"Yes," Allan said, smiling and clasping Tom's shoulder. "We're home. All of us."

The League set off as one towards the gleaming Nautilus.

The End.

Written January to July 2005. Some of the descriptions in the sunrise scene in this chapter came from the book "Allan's Wife" by H Rider Haggard. Thanks for reading!

"Rubicon 3 – Amulet" is currently in the planning stages. In it, the League have very little recovery time from their African adventure before their help is required to save the world again and another dimension too.

Thanks to:

Sawyer Fan always – Thank you for your stories, and for your enthusiasm about Tom and your help with 'Ruby 2' (even if you kept reaching for the bat repellent every time Tom and Mina so much as looked at each other!).

Suzi – for the brainstorming sessions and betaing all the reworkings (there must be some form of medal for that), for the medical advice and ensuring that Tom got quite a memorable African stay G . I hope Xander didn't get jealous.

Suzanne – for invaluable medical and beta help, for cheerfully going over some scenes countless times during rewrites, and for suggesting a much better way to order the scenes. (Not to mention trying to eliminate my tendency towards huge sentences and catching the typo that gazelles do not gamble, they gambol. LOL. Well, it certainly would have been an interesting sight.)

Ngaire - for suggesting cricket when I wanted something that Rodney, Henry and Tom could do (on "Red Dwarf" Lister, Kryten and the Cat described themselves once as the "boys from the Dwarf" – I see those LXG three as the "boys from the Naut").

To my brother for helping out with the cricket scenes.

Gerry and Mac for their dedicated betaing.


End file.
